


The Post Gurnius Affair

by tiranog



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiranog/pseuds/tiranog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya try to deal with the aftermath of the Gurnius Affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The drive back to San Rico from the destroyed THRUSH observatory took over an hour and a half.

This had not been an easy mission, Napoleon Solo mentally acknowledged as he finally allowed his weary eyes to sink shut. The smoking remains of the mountain top installation had disappeared from view over a half hour ago, but Napoleon's heart was still racing like a thoroughbred making for the finish line at Churchill Downs.

The accelerated heart rate was an after effect of the poison remedy Illya had given their lovely helper to administer to him. But knowing the cause didn't reduce Solo's discomfort. His pulse was drumming double time. His ribs were bruised so bad that he suspected a few might actually have cracked. A headache pounding hard enough to shatter his skull was keeping a disconcerting counter-rhythm to his racing pulse. The headache had several possible causes – it might be a by-product of the poison itself, the remedy, the electric shock device these damn Nazis had hooked him up to, or perhaps it was a memento of any of the continuous blows he'd taken while trying to disable Gurnius' insidious mind control machine.

At this point, Solo neither knew nor cared about the causes of his pain. All he knew was that he hurt. Every inch of his muscular body ached. In less than sixty minutes, he'd been tortured with electric shock, poisoned, resuscitated from death, and beaten up. That was a lot for anyone to handle, even U.N.C.L.E.'s top enforcer.

"Napoleon, are you all right?" Illya Kuryakin's voice called him back from the border of never-never land.

Forcing his weighed eyelids apart, Solo glanced across the drowsing journalist between him and his partner to where Illya sat behind the driver's seat.

Illya was still wearing that damn Nazi uniform, the fake scar on his right cheek livid and ugly.

Shuddering as he remembered that same face smiling down at him as he writhed and cried out in agony as Illya twisted the electric shock machine's control dial upwards to flood Napoleon's bound body with even more current, Solo glanced quickly away. "I'm fine," he answered too hastily. He could feel that probing blue gaze scouring the side of his averted face.

"Napoleon," Illya's tone was uncharacteristically gentle as he hesitantly continued, "I... regret the pain I was forced to inflict upon you."

"It's all right," Solo gruffly dismissed. 

"I feel... terribly responsible," Illya admitted.

"It wasn't your fault, Illya. You had a role to play. If you hadn't played it so hard, Gurnius would have known you were a ringer for Nexus and we'd all be dead now." Although Solo knew the words to be true, emotionally he couldn't quite vanquish the memory of that torture scene from his mind. His partner had made such a chillingly efficient Nazi.

"Nevertheless, I..."

"Illya, it wasn't your fault. Can we just drop it?"

"As you wish, Napoleon."  
It was remarkable, really, how well he'd gotten to know his enigmatic partner. There was a time when Solo had believed his partner to be totally without emotions. Now, he read the hurt Illya was attempting to conceal as easily as he would read a child's primer.

"I'm sorry, Illya. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just ... ache all over."

The rare admission of weakness seemed to echo around the car interior for a terribly long time. Whether it was their natural competitive edge or the old stiff upper lip training, hardly ever did either of them allow himself to appear less than perfect before his partner.

"Yes, of course. Perhaps you should rest until we reach the hotel," Illya suggested.

"That sounds good," Napoleon agreed, unable to place the unfamiliar touch of emotion shading Illya's subdued voice.

Solo had no sooner closed his eyes than it seemed he was being shaken awake. 

"Napoleon, Napoleon ... we are here." 

At that insistent, familiarly accented voice, Solo forced himself awake. Startled, he realized that Teri was no longer seated between them, that darkness had completely fallen, and that they were back at Solo's hotel in San Rico.

"Can you get out?"

Wondering why his partner was treating him like a child, Solo tried to clear the cloudy haze from his mind. "Yes, of course I can ...ohhh..." The cramps which hit him at his hasty first move froze Napoleon half way out of the car. His senses reeling, he dazedly allowed his smaller companion to help him out of the seat and support him as they entered the hotel.

"Where's Teri?" Solo grunted as Illya maneuvered him up the stairs. 

"In her room. Speaking of which, I am afraid that we are going to have to share. There is a tobacco convention in town. Miss Cook failed to reserve her room beforehand for the extra night, so I offered her mine. I hope you don't mind."

Not understanding the note of hesitation, Solo shook his head. "Of course, I don't mind."

It seemed to take forever to reach their room.

With his arm draped over Illya's broad shoulders, Solo stumbled blindly along, unconsciously trusting more and more of his weight to his partner. Finally the last set of stairs had been mounted. Their bedroom door closed behind them, with nothing standing between Napoleon and that incredibly soft double bed.

This room was just as horrific as Solo recalled, with its blue pile carpet, pea green velveteen armchairs, and gaudy dime store paintings. But all that interested him at this point was the bed.

"Perhaps you would feel better if you had a hot bath first?" Illya suggested, his gentle tone oddly reassuring.

Solo paused. He really didn't want to do anything but sleep.

Still, lllya had a point. A hot bath would help loosen up his sore muscles. Besides, he really needed to clean up.

Illya hadn't mentioned it, and Solo hoped that the pretty journalist had failed to notice, but when that electric shock had been turned up to full blast, Napoleon had lost control of his bladder. His clothes were dry now, but he couldn't be very pleasant to be close to at the moment.

"Yes, all right," Solo agreed.

"I'll run the bath, shall I?" Before Napoleon could respond, his partner disappeared into the bathroom.

Within minutes, the aching Napoleon was bundled into the steamy bathroom, Illya lingering to assist him in undressing.

Almost slipping as he stepped into the high sided, claw foot tub, he clutched at Illya for support, allowing those strong arms to guide him down into the hot water.

They both couldn't help but notice how Solo flinched at Illya's first touch. With that goddamn Nazi uniform still on him, Solo was having the devil of a time disassociating his loyal partner from the evil torturer. "Sorry. It's the unifonn," he apologized, unable to meet his friend's eye.

"I'll remove it immediately," Illya stiffly promised.

"Thanks ... hey, what are you doing?" Solo questioned as Illya's fingers settled gently against his throat.  
"Checking your pulse. It is still too fast." 

"It's just the remedy. The effects will wear off soon," Napoleon counselled.

The bruised Napoleon did not understand the inflection in his partner's voice as Illya gently repeated, "Yes, just the remedy. Do you require any assistance?"

At the awkward inquiry, Solo tried to focus his attention, damning his fuzzy senses. "No, I think I'll be alright."

"I'll be right outside should you require anything," Illya promised, leaving Solo to his privacy. "Call if you need me."

"I'm fine."

Bluff was standard procedure between them. Anyone could see that he was anything but fine, even the beleaguered Napoleon was aware of that. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as he relaxed into the bath water's lulling warmth.

After a time Napoleon forced himself to wash. The soap stung the little around burn the spots where the electrodes had been attached. The wounds looked like nothing but very red mosquito bites. However, they hurt like any burn.

Eventually, Solo finished his ablutions.

To his further humiliation, Solo found that he didn't have the energy to haul himself back out of the tub.

"Ah, Illya..." he called, praying that he wouldn't have to shout for help. This was already embarrassing enough without having to...

"I'm right here, Napoleon." Illya seemed to appear from nowhere. Thankfully, Illya had removed his fake scar and the dreaded uniform. The former General Nestor was simply his blessedly familiar partner again.

Without waiting to be asked, Illya practically lifted the taller Napoleon from the tub.

Solo was still trying to phrase some witty remark on his friend's prompt response when he felt a soft towel start to blot the water from his skin. Another large bath sheet settled over his shoulders to keep his shivering body warm.

"I took the liberty of contacting an U.N.C.L.E. physician," Illya informed him. "He will be here in several minutes."

Annoyed, Solo stared down at Illya, who was now kneeling to dry his legs. "I don't need a doctor."

"Please, Napoleon, just allow him to examine you?"

Napoleon looked down on the proud man on his knees before him, strangely moved by the sight.

Illya wasn't exactly the warmest of human beings, but Napoleon found his presence strangely reassuring when he wasn't feeling up to par. 

"If you insist," Napoleon agreed at last.

"Thank you." Illya spoke as if Solo had granted some great boon, rather than Napoleon acquiescing to something for his own benefit.

Solo watched as Illya completed his self-appointed task of drying his legs, unable to credit this near tenderness with the reserved image he held of his partner. In its own way, this gentle care was as jarring to the befuddled Napoleon as his recent memories of Illya torturing him.

It seemed that Illya had barely gotten Solo dried and bundled into his blue terry cloth robe when a soft knock sounded at the door.

"Mr. Kuryakin, it is I, Dr. Montoya."

From his seat on the bed, Napoleon watched his friend admit the U.N.C.L.E. physician, after carefully examining the man's credentials. The doctor was a small, rotund man, roughly his partner's height, but nearly twice the sprite Russian's bulk. The newcomer's smile was bright in his swarthy features, his brown eyes warm and instantly reassuring. "Good evening, Mr. Solo. I'm here to check out your injuries."

After the briefest of pleasantries, the physician immediately set to work.

Napoleon suffered the doctor's attentions as stoically as he had the day's tortures.

"It is good that you called me, Mr. Kuryakin," Dr. Montoya said when he was done. "Your friend has been through much today.

"Will he be alright?" Illya inquired, the intensity of that worried blue gaze belying his calm tone and features.

"I am still present, you know," Solo grumpily pointed out, tired of being spoken over as if he were a child.

"Forgive us," the doctor immediately apologized. "Yes, you will be fine, Mr. Solo. That shot I administered will regulate your heart rate, as well as relax those stressed muscles. I'm leaving some ointment for those burns, as well as some pain pills."

"Pain pills?" Illya inquired. "For sore muscles?"

Unfortunately, most U.N.C.L.E. agents were familiar enough with common injuries to almost diagnose themselves.

"The pain pills are for his bruised ribs. They're not broken, as far as I can tell. However, they will hurt as if they were for some time. I would prescribe at least two days bed rest, followed by light duty until those bruises fade," the physician ordered.

"Thank you, Dr. Montoya." Illya seemed to almost sag with relief as the tension left him.

"My pleasure." The physician smiled his dazzling smile. "Should you have any further need, please call me immediately. Would you be kind enough to relay my regards to Mr. Waverly? It has been some time since I last saw him. How is he? Well, I trust?"

"He is very well, sir," Illya assured. "I will tell him that you asked after him. Thank you again for everything."

Solo watched his partner escort the physician to the door. He was barely able to keep his eyes open now that his heart was no longer trying to pound its way out of his chest. That shot was already taking effect.

"How do you feel, Napoleon?"

With a start, Solo focused on the face bending over him, not remembering having seen Illya return from the door. His partner's tone was uncharacteristically hesitant, the hand that stroked his cheek unusually careful.

"Better," he groggily replied.

His bravado didn't fool Illya for a moment. "It's been a long day. I think we both could use an early night. Would you mind if I turned in now, Napoleon?"

Grateful for his partner's tact, Napoleon nodded. Solo's sluggish body painfully moved to help Illya roll down the sheets he was sitting on. He felt like a dead weight.

Sighing in open relief, Solo sank back onto the cool sheets.

"You're still shivering," Illya remarked as he pulled the bedclothes up over Solo.

"I'm still a little shocky, I guess." Napoleon shrugged, lusting for sleep more fiercely that any woman he'd had in his life.

"I'll pull the bedspread back up. I believe there is another blanket in the closet."

The over-solicitousness was becoming too much for Solo to handle. "Illya, you don't have to..."

But Illya had already hauled up the repulsive gold chenille bedspread and was heading to the closet for the extra blanket. His partner's back was the last thing Solo saw before sleep claimed him.

Hours later, Solo awoke with a start. His mouth dry, his head pounding, he was completely disoriented by the strange darkness of the cheap hotel room. Confused, he stared around the shadowy interior, his gaze eventually coming to rest on the only familiar object in sight.

The position Illya stood in was well known to Napoleon. Leaning against the window sill, his head bent deep in thought, Illya probably wasn't even consciously aware of the view he stared down on, Napoleon knew. It was simply Illya's favorite thinking spot. This was Kuryakin at his most introspective.

Solo didn't know what time it was, but the sluggish daze masking his senses told him it was quite late. A glance at the neat space beside him told Solo that his partner hadn't been to bed at all tonight.

"Illya?" His hoarse croak breached the midnight stillness.

Illya was instantly at his side. "Napoleon, is everything alright?"

Only the shadows in the night pale eyes revealed the true depth of Illya's concern. In his powder blue, cotton pajamas, and bare feet, Illya looked exhausted, long past ready to retire for the night.

"I could ask you the same thing. Why aren't you in bed?" Solo inquired.

"I thought that you might be more comfortable sleeping alone after…after today," Illya replied. "Can I get you anything? Some water or pain pills?"

It took Solo's sleep fogged mind a few moments to understand the strained awkwardness. Guilt was not an emotion he normally equated with his cool, ruthlessly competent partner.

Strangely touched that this dispassionate man would experience it on his behalf, Napoleon shook his head in refusal of Illya's inquiry about his needs. "Nothing, thanks. And you thought wrong."

"What?"

"I'll sleep better with my partner beside me. Get in here," Solo gruffly ordered.

"Napoleon, I really don't think…"

"The doctor said that we're stuck here for at least two more days. Are you going to spend the next two nights standing in front of that window?"

Sounding much more his normal, intractable self, Illya began, "Tomorrow I will check with the front desk and arrange other accommodations. Until then…"

"Illya," Solo interrupted, even his weary senses able to perceive how upset his friend was beneath his outer calm. "Don't be ridiculous. Please come to bed."

As their gazes locked, a silent battle of wills ensued.

Finally, Illya released a shuddery breath and gave a terse nod. "As you will." Without further fanfare, Illya climbed into the empty side of the bed.

Solo winced as the resulting rocking of the mattress jarred his sore body. Every one of his muscles felt like it had been put through a cheese grater, accentuating how fundamentally incompatible electricity and the human body were.

Even for a double bed, this one was small. When Illya finally settled down, they lay shoulder to shoulder.

"You cannot be comfortable like this," Illya whispered at last, his form so tense that Solo felt as if he were sharing the bed with a block of stone.

"Go to sleep, Illya," Napoleon sighed, firmly closing his eyes.

His various aches making themselves felt, it was some time before Napoleon could take his own advice. When he eventually drifted off, his partner was no more relaxed.

Several times during the night Solo's rest was disturbed by the inevitable bad dreams that followed such a demanding mission. Tonight was a little different from the usual horror show, however, since one of the heroes of his midnight show had changed sides. The MC of tonight's proceedings wore a frighteningly familiar visage.

Still, each time the moaning Napoleon would surface to a state of semi-wakefulness, gentle hands would push his sweaty hair clear of his brow as a blessedly familiar voice murmured reassurances until Napoleon was lulled back into peaceful slumber.

When Solo awoke with the morning light, it was to find Illya lying on his side, staring at him, one hand thrown protectively across Napoleon's chest.

"Good morning." Solo smiled into the worried eyes.

"How do you feel, Napoleon?"

Wishing he could ease that shadow of guilt, Solo drew upon a patience he never suspected existed. "Better. Did you get any sleep at all?"

Illya shrugged. "Enough."

"Well, you look terrible. Those bags under your eyes look heavier than my suitcase," Solo observed, knowing better than to even try moving under that too perceptive gaze.

"I'll be fine," Illya denied. "Come, let's see about getting you some breakfast. You must be hungry."

*~*~*

A pain pill and another hot bath did little to alleviate Napoleon's aches. However, he was able to haul himself up out of the bathtub unassisted, which was an improvement, he supposed.

When he walked out of the bathroom and found Illya hovering near the door, his temper got the best of him. 

"Look, Illya, you really don't have to hang around here all day. If you'd prefer to…"  
"Hit the hot spots of San Rico – providing any exist…" Illya's droll tone made his feelings on the suggestion quite plain. "I think not. What I was going to ask was if you wanted a massage? It might help ease the discomfort."

"You don't have to..." Solo instinctively denied. Although he was privately tempted by the offer, he couldn't really countenance subjecting his touch sensitive partner to the ordeal.

"I know that I don't have to. But it might make us both feel better," Illya argued.

"I know how it's going to make me feel better, but what's it going to do for you?" Solo grinned impishly, amused at the concept of this stoic young man having to talk the infamous Napoleon Solo into a sensual treat.

"It will give me something to do besides watch you suffer," Illya explained.

"Put that way, how can I refuse?" Gracefully giving in, Solo opened his bathrobe, even that small gesture hurting. If it wasn't his muscles, it was the bruised ribs...or, more frequently, both.

Before Solo could attempt anything more demanding than loosening the knot, Illya was there easing the blue terry cloth from his shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Illya replied with his typical formality.

Supremely unselfconscious in his nudity, Napoleon allowed his partner to help him down on the bed. He hid his smile as he caught a trace of color in those white cheeks, curious as to how his friend was going to handle the upcoming muscle rub when the mere sight of Solo's flesh offended his modesty.

"Are your ribs all right?" Illya worried.

"Are yours?" he quipped.

"Napoleon..."

"I'm okay. Go ahead." Making himself as comfortable as he could, Solo propped his chin on his crossed arms and watched over his shoulder as Illya retrieved a clear bottle of what looked like baby oil from the bureau top.

"Where'd you get that from?" Solo enquired as Illya rested the bottle on the bed while he paused to roll back his shirt sleeves.

"Room service. Actually, I convinced the bell boy to run to the pharmacy while you were in the bath," Illya explained.

"Had this planned, did you?" Solo grinned.

Charmingly flustered, Illya shrugged and hesitantly asked, "Shall I begin?"

"Please."

Napoleon winced as Illya's small, yet strangely strong hands with their slick burden of oil made contact with his shoulders. Even the light stroke of skin over skin was hurtful to his abused muscles. Solo couldn't recall ever being this sensitive to touch before, but, then, he'd never had a current of raw electricity run through his body, either.

That first touch was nothing compared to the agony that ensued when Illya's kneading fingers actually applied light pressure to the aching flesh. The helpless groan Solo released then was unmistakably one of pure agony.

"Do you want me to stop?" Illya questioned in a strained whisper, his hands freezing in place.

Napoleon considered telling him to halt, but although the actual massage hurt like hell, the muscles that Illya had worked on did feel a lot better already. "No...it's okay," he grated out. "Just...go slow."

The pressure let up infinitesimally as Illya recommenced the rub down. Wracked with discomfort, Solo was convinced that the cure was as painful as the torture that had initiated the condition. Still, as soon as those purveyors of agony moved on, each tender area did feel better.

Over the years, Napoleon'd had many a massage, but few were as meticulous as the one his partner gave him. Illya approached each area with a feather light touch, gradually increasing pressure until he was kneading Solo's sore muscles like pizza dough. At the height of pressure, the experience was excruciating, the pain almost transcendental. However, the subsequent relief was equally intense.

The thorough Russian didn't miss a spot on Napoleon's body. Starting with his thick muscled shoulders, Illya moved up Solo's neck, then down each arm, including hands and fingers. Illya left Napoleon's skin slick, pink, and sweet scented wherever he moved.

His spine was dismantled vertebra by vertebra. The lower back and kidney areas received careful attention, Illya exerting only the lightest pressure on the bruises one of the THRUSH thugs had left there.

Solo was stunned when his modest partner attacked his buttocks without pause. Illya kneaded the flat, thick muscled globes with the same sure touch he applied to shoulder and biceps.

As more and more of his body succumbed to Illya's talented tactile persuasion, a contented lull began to seep through Napoleon as he once again experienced the euphoria of physical well being. Illya's magic was such that even when the tireless Russian took on the throbbing misery that were Solo's thighs, that sense of well being didn't entirely desert him.

Always a good judge of the passage of time, Napoleon estimated that a full hour or more had gone by before Illya finished with his last little toe.

Breathing deep and even, practically floating on the sensual web Illya had woven for him, it was with great reluctance that Solo muttered, "Thank you, my friend. That was incredible."

"It's not over yet," Illya declared, a suppressed laugh in his voice.

"Huh?"

"You have a whole other side, Napoleon. That is where the electrodes were attached. The muscles there will no doubt be the most sensitive."

"You sure you don't want this to stop?" Solo checked, knowing his friend must be tired. This type of deep massage was hard work, more exhausting than a work out in the gym.

"An U.N.C.L.E. agent does not stop until the job is completed," Illya quoted. "We're only half done."

"Far be it from me to stand between an U.N.C.L.E. enforcer and his dedication to duty." Solo smiled, readily turning over. "Carry on, my friend." He allowed his eyes to sink shut as Illya began to work on his shoulders and neck again, but from the front this time.

As Illya had surmised, the area where the electrodes had been attached were terribly sensitive to touch. But Illya steered clear of those smarting, livid marks. Dousing the contact points with the slick baby oil, Illya concentrated on the surrounding flesh, moving with inordinate care.

Wondering how Illya was liking this, Napoleon's eyes cracked open, watching the familiar features through pleasure slitted lids as Illya worked. Solo was surprised by the empathic winces Illya gave as he tackled the sore spots. It was almost as if his friend could feel Solo's pain through his fingertips.

As with the back muscles, the massage was hard going at first. The pain was unreal, eclipsing almost everything Napoleon could recall enduring at enemy hands. Yet, eventually, Illya's fingers worked their magic here, too. Once Illya left behind the red marked areas where the electrodes had done their insidious work, that luscious cocoon of warmth and well being settled around Napoleon again.

Illya's fingers took on a lambent quality as they moved to Solo's far end. Starting at Napoleon's feet, Illya carefully worked his way back up. Illya was basically reconnoitering the territory he'd lulled into relaxation from when he'd worked the other side supple, so the discomfort was minimal here.

Napoleon sighed in open pleasure as Illya worked around his dark fuzzed knees. Illya's touch felt so good, so right...

Amazed that this fantastically repressed man could bring such joy, Solo floated along with the feelings, too much of a sensualist to question or refuse such delight. His body was thrumming with sensation, humming like a bronze strung harp as Illya's fingers played his nervous system.

Lost in the symphony of physical nirvana, it was some time before Solo became aware of trouble, coming as it did in such an enjoyable guise.

Feeling good was a way of life for Napoleon. His off duty time was spent almost entirely in pursuit of his pleasures and all of those were carnal. His body was accustomed to responding in a certain manner to physical stimuli. And Illya's massage was nothing if not stimulating. Solo's jaded nervous system gloried in the tactile attention. When the pleasures reached a certain threshold, his body responded as it had thousand of times before – with a pulsing, hungry erection.

When Napoleon recognized what was happening, every muscle he owned turned to stone. As his most embarrassing muscle was already rock hard, the reaction made little difference.

Illya was working his inner thigh at the moment, wrecking havoc on Solo's struggle to control himself. His partner's touch was level and sure, in no way tantalizing, but damn it, everyone liked being touched there. It was an ultra sensitive, erogenous region. What man wouldn't react to any touch there? Christ, didn't Illya know what he was doing... how could he not know???

Napoleon prayed that his horror would chill his ardor. But sensation had ignited channels totally inappropriate to Solo's present company. Illya's talented fingers had turned him on faster than a seasoned hooker, and there was nothing the mortified Solo could do to turn himself off again while those ignorant hands were still stroking his flesh.

"Illya, STOP!" Solo grated out, deathly embarrassed by his lack of control.

What the devil was Kuryakin going to think of this – his partner getting an erection while undergoing a totally platonic massage? The reserved Russian already believed Solo an undisciplined womanizer with less control over his libido than an alley cat in heat.

Always in the past, Napoleon had resented Illya's superior attitude, but, apparently, Illya was right. His present predicament proved to the humiliated Solo that he really was without sexual scruples or control. He was as susceptible to stimulus as Pavlov's dogs.

"What's wrong?" Illya looked curiously up at him.

How can he not know? Solo's mortified brain shouted out. To Napoleon, it felt as if he had a hard-on the size of a broomstick poking up at his groin. How could even someone as repressed as Illya miss something like that?

Feeling his cheeks heat, Napoleon tried to explain, "I... ah... appear to be even sloppier than you believed. Forgive me. It was unintentional, I assure you."

"What are you..." The perceptive blue gaze swept Solo's form, finally focusing on the source of Napoleon's present discomfort.

"I'm sorry, Illya. Truly..." Napoleon stammered, understanding on a visceral level that old adage of dying of embarrassment.

He heard Illya swallow, then the only noise in the totally silent room was the raspy sound of their separate breaths.

The incredibly awkward moment seemed to stretch out into eternity.

Sure that his shameful lapse was going to cost him his partner's respect, Solo waited in the tense quiet for the inevitable explosion.

At last, the frozen Illya released a deep breath.

Napoleon's eyes squeezed shut as his partner's hands left his thighs.

Solo was no coward, but the thought of watching the disgust Illya must feel for him fill the face of the man whom he respected above all others was more than Napoleon could bear right now. With one momentary lapse of control, he'd ruined the finest partnership he'd ever had, as well as sacrificed one of his dearest friends. And his damn erection was still rearing its hungry little head between them, as if intent on guaranteeing his complete humiliation.

Napoleon gasped in shock as the fingertips of Illya's right hand returned to lightly stroke up Solo's inner thigh, the tentative gesture seeming as unsure as Napoleon presently felt.

"Illya?" His eyelids snapped open, his bewildered gaze focusing on Illya's too pale face. Illya looked... not disgusted, not even furious, but... scared to death.

"It's all right, Napoleon," Illya assured.

"What...ahhh..." Solo groaned as Illya's moving hand firmly collected his turgid flesh.

Stunned, Napoleon could only stare speechlessly up at his partner, his entire body frozen in shock at Illya's unexpected action, with one important exception - the throbbing cock Illya now held cradled in his sweaty palm.

While Napoleon struggled with his disbelief, Illya's tentative grip grew in assurance.

The experimental squeeze Illya gave him turned Solo's shaft to solid stone, simultaneously forcing the breath from Solo's chest in a shocked "whoosh" of release. Then Illya began to pump him in earnest and all thought processes ceased entirely.

The tortured ache of his abused muscles, which were smarting once again under Napoleon's present tension, was forgotten as his ascetic young partner aroused him to a heightened state of ecstacy the hedonistic Solo would have believed beyond the range of a simple hand job.

Not that there was anything common or pedestrian about what Illya was doing for him. Even in his passion-dazed condition, Napoleon knew that there was nothing the least bit simple about the gift his partner was giving him.

Without a word being spoken, Illya read his desires. The touch was so perfect, so pure and utterly satisfying. The pressure was exactly what Solo needed, neither too much nor too little, so carnally moving that Napoleon was straining for breath within seconds, his flesh beaded with a sudden sweat as his hips fell into rhythm with Illya's pumping hand.

The friction drove him higher and higher. Wild with pleasure, Napoleon gasped and grunted his way towards completion.

His wide-eyed gaze locked on Illya's face, memorizing every nuance of the unfamiliar expression. He'd seen this man kill without hesitation or remorse, seen Illya tortured, sick and hurting, but never before had Solo seen his friend love. The open tenderness transforming Illya's face was near impossible to consign with Napoleon's image of his unemotional, insouciant partner. But, somehow, he sensed this was more the real Illya Kuryakin than any of those others, for, this was the man that remained when all the other masks, pretenses and fears had been stripped away.

The gentleness took years off Illya's already youthful face, making him appear absurdly young, compellingly innocent and approachable. This was an Illya whose existence Solo had never even suspected.

As that sensitive hand brought him to the brink of completion, Napoleon knew that this was an Illya he wanted to get to know better...to know intimately.

All too soon the magic coalesced into a fiery burst of completion that blasted through Solo's entire system, short circuting every nerve ending he owned with the voltage of the sheer delight of climax. The ecstacy was devastating, leaving Napoleon's nerves as useless as the slag of melted circuitry left in a lightning storm's wake.

Wave after wave of ejaculate spurted from his shuddering body, raining down over his belly and thighs; some of it even spattering the lower part of his partner's face. Even in the grip of orgasm, Napoleon was slightly uncomfortable with his messy coming, still unsure as he was of how Illya felt about the entire event.

The silence which fell after the last spasm had run its course was absolute.

Having no idea of what he should say, Solo lay listening to the thunder of his own heart. Watching his partner's once again unreadable face, he dreaded the inevitable reaction.

Just when the tension grew too awkward to bear, Illya reached out for the night table. After gathering a tissue from the nearby box, the kneeling man nonchalantly wiped the drying semen from Solo's lower belly and thighs.

Napoleon was so sensitive to this man that even that completely asexual action made him tingle. Trying to hide his response, he waited for Illya to scrub the ejaculate from where it had speckled his face.

To his utter astonishment, it was Illya's pink tongue which peeked out to remove the substance. Illya's expression was endearingly curious and intense as he sampled its flavor.

Solo was so shaken by the unexpected sensuality of the gesture that he nearly climaxed again right then and there. His breath catching in his chest, Napoleon waited for a reaction – bad or good.

As if becoming aware of Solo's observation, Illya's cheeks filled with color. Flashing Napoleon a quick nervous smile, Illya reached out to collect the bedclothes from where they'd been pushed aside at the start of the massage.

"Rest now, Napoleon," Illya whispered as he tucked the covers around Napoleon. Illya's voice was gruff with indecipherable emotion, his hand incredibly gentle as he stroked the hair back from Solo's brow.

Too overwhelmed to even consider objecting, Napoleon closed his eyes, concentrating on the tender touch. To his complete surprise, he was asleep in moments.

*~*~*

When Napoleon reawakened hours later, it was to find his partner comfortably ensconced in one of the horrid pea green chairs, his nose buried deep in a scientific journal. Illya hauled the ungainly tomes around the world the way another man might a pocket sized soft cover.

"Ah, hello," Solo said after a few minutes' observation, still not certain if the incredibly sensual scene thrumming through his blood was dream or memory.

"Hello. How do you feel?" The cordial tone of Illya's reply made Solo doubt his own memories.

How could Illya be this calm? Was the entire interval fantasy?

Wondering if he'd dozed off and dreamed the entire encounter, Solo slowly answered, "Better... and confused. Did you... did we...?" Stumbling on the absurd question, he fell silent, watching that all-too-controlled face.

Illya closed his book and sat up straighter in his chair. "I'm glad that you're feeling better. You must be hungry by now. I'll order dinner."

The meal and the remainder of the day passed in an odd state of suspension for Solo. He didn't know whether the pain pills or the shocking events of the morning were responsible. He felt almost as if he were in shock, oddly distanced from everything going on around him, while, at the same time, ridiculously aware of the minutest of details – such as how often Illya shifted in his chair and how many times his partner pushed his overlong hair back from his face. He seemed to recall Illya putting that hand to other uses not so long ago, but since he appeared to be the only one with any such recollection, Solo kept his mouth shut.

As the sky beyond the window gradually darkened to night, Solo found himself unconsciously tensing in anticipation of sharing the bed with his partner. Would it happen again, he nervously wondered.

The sensual tingle that shivered through him at the thought of being close to Illya that way again told Solo how very much he wanted a repeat performance.

"It's growing late," Illya mildly observed, closing his journal.

At last Illya had deigned to notice him. His partner had been hiding behind that book for so many hours that Solo was beginning to fear he planned to spend the entire night reading.

"Yes, it must be all of 8 p.m.," Napoleon commented, a yawn destroying his effect.

Illya's smile was atypically gentle as he reminded, "The doctor did advise you to rest." Apparently knowing better than to ask if he needed one, Illya wordlessly passed over another pill.

Solo accepted it in kind, washing it down with the water his partner had kept pouring into his bedside glass all day.

The silent care was characteristic of their partnership. They were both too independent to make either good nursemaids or graceful recipients of such treatment. Over the course of the years, they had fallen into the habit of watching out for each other without hovering. Yet, despite a dearth of over-demonstrative attention, Napoleon always felt better simply having his partner around when he was feeling under the weather. Illya was supportive and comforting, without being suffocating.

Finishing the water, Solo hauled himself to his feet and made his slow way to the john.

When he returned, several minutes later, Illya had the bed covers pulled down and was in the act of drawing the window curtains.

Strangely nervous, Napoleon settled on his side on the double bed, watching his compact partner move. He'd always been aware of Illya's dexterity and physical adeptness, but tonight Solo was struck by his lithe grace. Illya moved like a dancer, light on his feet, each motion smoothly flowing into the next. There'd been a time, not so very long ago, when Napoleon considered his reserved friend more than slightly repressed, if not downright frigid. But tonight Solo at last saw through to the inner sensuality that smoldered beneath that frosty exterior.

Even if he hadn't experienced this insight, Illya's actions earlier this afternoon would have shown Solo how wrong he'd been about his friend. Despite all outward evidence to the contrary, this man possessed a soul that was as passionate and fiery as Napoleon's own.

Mystified by his own lack of perception all these years, Solo waited for his partner to finish putting the room to rights for the night.

At last Illya was done.  
Napoleon cursed the other man's cool. Illya came to the bed as calmly as ever. His partner seemed completely unmoved outwardly as he stripped down to his underwear.

Solo had the unusual experience of eyeing another man's crotch to try to ascertain his partner's degree of sexual arousal. It was a weird feeling, checking out another guy that way... weird, and ultimately disappointing.

Although Illya's snowy white briefs outlined his generously endowed privates, the cotton underpants revealed no indication that he was the least bit excited... whereas Solo himself was doing everything he could to keep his own bothersome erection hidden beneath the covers.

The situation was more than embarrassing. It was utterly unnerving. Napoleon found himself in the unusual position of doubting his own mind.

Had it really happened at all? And if it hadn't, what in the name of God made him dream up such a bizarre fantasy about Illya, of all people?

If asked yesterday, Napoleon would have sworn that Illya would die before touching him that way. Sometimes it was all Solo could do to imagine the tightly repressed Russian doing it with a woman. The idea of Illya Kuryakin initiating a sexual encounter with his very male partner, who was incidentally also his immediate superior, was so ludicrous as to be preposterous. It just couldn't have happened.

Despite the reality of his memories, Solo decided that it must have been a dream. Not even the Ice King Kuryakin could behave this matter-of-factly were the incident anything but fantasy.

"Is there anything else that you need?" Illya asked, his hand poised on the lamp switch, a question in his eyes.

Confused, it took Solo a moment to interpret the silent inquiry. What Illya was really asking him was why Solo was still sitting up in bed, instead of comfortably settled on his pillows.

"No..." Napoleon denied, still slightly dazed, "...I'm fine."

His cheeks self-consciously warming, Solo settled beneath the blankets.

After switching off the lamp, Illya lay down beside him, venting a weary sigh as he relaxed. 

"Good night, Napoleon," Illya mumbled, turning away from him on his side.

"Good night," Solo replied, hoping his bewilderment didn't show.

To Napoleon's intense frustration, Illya was deeply asleep within minutes.

Never so physically conscious of another, Napoleon lay there trying to convince his body to relax. But Illya's tantalizing presence filled his senses. The soapy clean scent of his partner's flesh and the body warmth seeping across the bare inches of mattress that separated them made sleep near impossible. To his consternation, Solo even found the rhythm of Illya's light snoring arousing. Predictably enough, it was hours before the sexually charged Solo was able to drift off.

Once he did achieve slumber, Napoleon's dreams were filled with disturbing images. He was trapped in a confused tapestry of desire and fear. In it, Napoleon once again found himself strapped to that table in Gurnius' lab, while a Nazi torturer bearing Illya's features gleefully spun dials to wrack Solo's body with agony. Suddenly, his tormentor would stop and turn off the machine. Then the Nazi Illya would undo the zipper of Solo's trousers and proceed to pleasure his bound captive until Napoleon exploded all over himself. But once Solo came, the Nazi would give a mirthless smile that never reached his cold blue eyes and immediately turn on the electric shock again, flooding his helpless prisoner with even more pain, as if in punishment of the pleasure he'd taken.

Trapped in the images, Napoleon didn't know what was worse – fearing the sadist's torture or desiring the physical pleasure that same hand could bring him. Unable to break free of the cycle, Solo tossed in his sleep, moaning in his distress, "No...Illya...please...stop, please..." Even in his dreams, Napoleon felt shame for his weakness.

"Napoleon..."

It was the naked worry in the familiar voice that pierced his consciousness, that and the healthy shake Illya gave him.

"Wha..?" Solo gasped in shock as he came awake in the dark hotel room. The concern pinching Illya's night pale features alerted him to what was going on. 

"You were dreaming," Kuryakin explained, his clipped tone revealing the extent of the guilt he still felt.

To his disgust, Solo found that he was still afraid of this man. Even awake and knowing who Illya was, Napoleon didn't seem able to control his shaking body, not with the dreams so fresh in his mind. 

"Yes...well, I..." Solo stammered, struggling to get a grip on himself.

"It is...what happened to you in Field Marshall Gurnius' lab that is troubling you so?" The soft tone was very different from Illya's usual unemotional approach to life.

Solo gave a reluctant nod, wishing that he could bluff his way out of this. Illya was guilty enough over what he'd been forced to do without having a front row seat to Solo's night traumas.

"It appears that I might have strained our friendship beyond reparation," Illya whispered, his gaze slipping away from Solo's like a cornered wild creature.

"Nonsense," Napoleon rallied. "It's just..."

"You are shaking like a leaf, Napoleon. You won't pretend to tell me that is a normal reaction this long after a mission?"

"You're right. It is strange. Far worse has been done to me. I don't know why this should bother me so, but...?"

"Don't you? Napoleon, I am the one you rely on to guard your back. Perhaps the one man you trust implicitly. My actions in that lab yesterdayhave endangered that fragile relationship, if not destroyed it completely..."

"No," Solo instinctively protested, "I still trust you, Illya. That hasn't changed. It's just...bad dreams. They will fade in time."

"Yes, in time."

The sadness in that soft refrain sliced into Solo's conscience. "It will get better, my friend. You'll see."

"That is what I should be telling you," Illya replied with a touch of his normal dry urbanity.

Smiling, Napoleon turned on his side to face his partner, throwing a companionable arm across the slender chest. "So tell me later when I wake you again."

As the deep, calming breath Solo released ruffled through his partner's mussed blond hair, it belatedly occurred to him how close they were now lying together. Heads sharing the same pillow, their faces inches apart, Solo's right arm and leg thrown across Kuryakin's body...they were as comfortable with the intimacy as lovers of long standing.

To Solo's surprise, Illya didn't seem particularly disturbed by the liberties Napoleon was taking. Normally, his scientific friend was almost phobic about being touched...by anyone other than his partner. With a mental start, Napoleon abruptly realized that it had been years since Illya had frozen him out for accidental touches or rejected friendly gestures that he had once squirmed away from.

To the contrary, Illya was often the one to initiate the contact. These days Illya would often reach out to steady him, take Napoleon's arm to cross a dangerous intersection or simply stand very close to him, far closer than most men felt comfortable standing next to another fellow.

Puzzling what all this might mean in light of this afternoon's intimate exchange, Solo slowly drifted back to sleep.

The next day, Napoleon awoke feeling remarkably better. After a light breakfast in their room, the pair decided to spend the day taking in San Rico's hot spots, such as they were.

Napoleon was surprised by the burst of resentment he experienced when their lovely young reporter friend also chose to accompany them. It was with no small amount of discomfort that Solo realized that he'd wanted to spend the day alone with his partner...for reasons which he'd rather not examine too closely.

As was Illya's habit with all cultural outings, he enthusiastically threw himself into the tour, absorbing as much about San Rico as was humanly possible. A small guide book in hand, Illya acted as their tour director, showing Miss Cook and Napoleon part of the area with which most natives were doubtless unfamiliar.

By the time the three returned to the hotel that evening, both of Illya's companions were dragging behind.

"Should we stop for dinner now?" Illya questioned as Miss Cook and Solo all but limped into the hotel lobby, Solo and Teri pausing before the restaurant more from lack of energy than hunger.

The eager light in those incredible crystalline blue eves told Solo that his partner was famished. Illya had really enjoyed their expedition today. He was still vibrant with energy, his skin almost glowing with excitement...highly desirable, Solo realized with a start.

"Ah, no, guys. I'm just going to bed. That last hike up the mountain nearly finished me," Teri Cook tiredly refused. Her leopard spotted go-go dancer outfit hadn't exactly been the proper attire for a day's hard touring. The fashionable set was covered with dust and grass stains, much the same as the two U.N.C.L.E. agents' suits.

"But the view was worth the trip; was it not?" Illya inquired.

"Yeah, sure was. Now if only I'd had my camera. Ah, well..." With a weary sigh she brightened her smile. "I'm all done in, lads. I'm off for a shower and a kip."

"Doesn't sound bad to me," Solo rallied, more for appearance's sake than out of any real interest. His muscles were hurting almost as badly as they had when he'd staggered in here two nights ago. "Want some company?"

"Sorry, luv. I wouldn't be much fun tonight," Miss Cook denied.

"I sincerely doubt that," Solo purred, watching out of the corner of his eye how his partner's face had assumed an expressionless mask at this familiar interplay. Interesting.

"Good night, gentlemen." Her bright, Cockney laugh lit the lobby as the reporter made a beeline for the stairs before either man could protest.

Not that Napoleon was exactly disappointed by the turn of events. He'd wanted to get his partner alone all day.

"Ah, well, it appears it is just we two," Solo said without nearly the amount of regret he usually, felt when a young lady refused his dinner invitation.

"Yes, I suppose that you'll have to make do with me," Illya commented rather stiffly.

This was not an unusual reaction for Illya to have to Solo's chronic flirting. Napoleon had always assumed that his proper young friend disapproved of his womanizing. Only now did he begin to suspect what might actually be motivating Illya's almost catty responses to these common scenes.

So, instead of voicing some subtle putdown or joking about Illya's having the wrong equipment for Solo to 'make do', Napoleon patted his partner on the back and replied in all seriousness, "I couldn't ask for better company, my friend. Come on, let's eat. You look famished."

Illya blinked, seeming almost taken aback by Solo's response. For a moment, Illya simply stood there, with such a look of endearing surprise on his face that Napoleon wanted to hug him for it. Then, it cleared into a smile of blinding sweetness that warmed Solo down to the tips of his toes.

Christ, Napoleon thought as his followed his partner into the dining room, how could he have overlooked what was going on with Illya for so many years? One small compliment and a little attention from him, and the man was shining brighter than a lighthouse beacon.

Could Illya really want him that much, that way?

Consumed by these and similar thoughts at dinner, Solo sought to investigate the possibility. Doing so consciously for the first time, Napoleon turned his charm on his partner during the meal. Careful not to stumble into any sexual innuendo and leading lines that characterized his usual dinner dates, Solo none-the-less sought to charm the pants off his friend – figuratively speaking, for the moment.

It was nearly frightening how quickly Illya fell under his spell. Solo counted his success in the number of smiles and open laughs he gained from his sober young friend. With heart-wrenching ease, Napoleon had his partner convulsed with laughter by the time they d finished dessert.

"Napoleon, please, enough. I will be ill if you continue," Illya begged.

"You think I'm joking, but that's really what happened, Illya. THRUSH was doing imprinting experimentation on their own men and it backfired. It was one of my first assignments in Section 2. When U.N.C.L.E. finally penetrated that compound, half the THRUSH men were down on their hands and knees pecking through the grass in front of the lab like a flock of Canadian geese."

"You are making this up," Illya accused, teary eyed from laughing.

"No, it's true. I swear. You can ask Mr. Waverly when we get back."

"So, what happened to the men?" Illya asked skeptically.

"Most of them were placed in a high level security sanitarium upstate. Every November it's awful exciting up there, though."

"Oh?"  
"Yes, they have to keep the THRUSH men locked inside all month. The first year they didn't and they had six men with broken limbs," Solo reported.

"Trying to escape?"  
Playing the line for all that it was worth, Napoleon replied in deadly earnestness, "No, trying to fly south."

Illya's chuckle threatened to bleed back into open laughter. "Napoleon, admit it. You made that story up."

"No, it's true. Scout's honor," he swore. 

Before Illya's open mouth could voice his disbelief, their waiter interrupted. "More cafe, senores?" he asked, hovering over them with a huge silver coffee pot. 

"No, the bill, por favor," Solo denied. 

"I'm glad we did this, Napoleon," Illya commented as their waiter took Solo's payment to the register to be sorted out. "It has been a most enjoyable day." 

"Yes, it has. Hasn't it? We should do this more often," Solo replied. He allowed a questioning note to slip into his voice as his hand, which was reaching for his coffee cup, brushed against Illya's, seemingly by accident.

Intrigued, Solo watched his partner's fair cheeks fill with color. 

"I would like that," Illya agreed.

"So would I. I'd like it very much." Napoleon let his gaze show what else he'd like, then calmly retrieved both his hand and coffee cup.

The nervous gulp Illya gave, clearly audible even at the other side of the table, told Solo that his silent message had been correctly interpreted.

The next move was up to Illya.

This was a new game to Solo. He wasn't sure of the rules...or even if there were rules. But the prize was sitting across the table from him in all its golden glory. 

Napoleon had had a mere taste of the pleasure that was on offer here and was hungry for more. He didn't know when he'd consciously decided it, but sometime between yesterday's confusion and this morning's frustration, he'd determined to make this prize his own.

But seducing a man, any man, was light years outside of Solo's experience. Trying to win U.N.C.L.E.'s infamous Ice King, the oh-so-deadly, ultra-repressed Kuryakin seemed beyond imagining. Yet, Napoleon was determined to have him.

Still, it would be a very different game Solo played here than with his usual conquests.

Illya was the ultimate challenge...and, perhaps, the ultimate prize. To win the heart of a man who eschewed all emotion, to melt that icy exterior and make Kuryakin steam, to make Illya beg for his touch ...it would require careful handling.

Instinct told Napoleon that his partner would balk at too open a campaign. Heavy come-ons, leading lines...they were all too crude for Illya. This complex blend of the ascetic and sensual demanded a refinement and subtlety to which Solo was unaccustomed. To win Illya, Napoleon knew he was going to have to circumvent his partners scientific mind, the overlord which ruled his partner with an iron fist.

But how? Illya wasn't even able to escape that jealous master. The heart trapped behind that icy wall of logic was rarely allowed out.

Stumped, Napoleon tried to figure out how he'd won through yesterday. Somehow, without even trying, he'd gotten past that scientific mind.

The key to the puzzle was a long time in emerging, but when it surfaced, Napoleon grasped its unlikely appearance like a lifeline.

"You've grown very quiet," Illya commented as they climbed the stairs. 

Thinking that he knew what had done the trick yesterday, Solo looked down at his dusty shoes before reluctantly admitting, "A large number of my muscles are making their unhappiness known to me." 

"We overdid ourselves today;" Illya replied in a quiet tone. And, as Solo knew it would, the guilt was there. 

"I'm sure that a hot shower will help," Solo assured.

"Yes...of course."

As soon as they were in their room, Illya insisted that Solo have another hot bath. His discomfort in no way faked; although Napoleon had played it up for all that it was worth, he was happy to comply.

When Napoleon exited the steamy bath twenty minutes later, Illya was seated in one of the horrible green chairs, sipping a large, clear drink that Solo knew was straight vodka. Illya had removed his dark suit jacket and was now sitting there in his rumpled, dusty, tieless shirt. Illya looked worn, more than slightly guilt-ridden and highly desirable.

Shamed by how ruthless a manipulator he actually was, Solo paused in the doorway, almost regretful enough to abandon his plan.

Illya glanced up at his towel clad partner. "Napoleon, do you feel any better?"

Now was the time to cheerfully say "yes," get into his clothes and suggest they go explore the night spots. It was also the only opportunity Solo was ever going to have to explore this new game. To his intense shame, self-interest won out.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, Solo grumped, "Some," before making his way to the bed with just the right touch of exaggerated caution.

Solo could feel the tension in the air behind him as his partner monitored his slow progress.

"Is there anything I can do?" Illya asked, his guilt once again a palpable presence.

Hating himself, but getting excited at the same time, Solo mouthed the denial convention demanded of him. "No, I'll be all right."

The first move had to be Illya's.

The silence stretched behind him.

"Napoleon, would...would you like another massage?"

Solo stopped at the nervous offer.

Carefully blanking all traces of triumph from his expression, Solo turned to face his white-faced partner. Game, set, and match.

Illya looked scared to death. His complexion was ashen, his eyes wide, so blue they hurt.

"If you wouldn't mind," Napoleon demurred.

"No...no, of course not," Illya practically stammered.

"Thank you." Turning back to the bed, Solo slowly removed the towel banding his waist. He could feel Illya's gaze running over his bare flesh like an electric current as he stood poised naked there a moment longer than absolutely necessary before lying face down on the bed.

His ribs barely ached at all today. As he settled his front more comfortably, there was next to no pain.

Solo could feel Illya's hesitation as he approached the bed. Illya paused to gulp down his vodka, giving a helpless choke afterward. Then he reached for the bottle of baby oil that had been sitting on the night table all day.

Napoleon groaned in open delight as those powerful hands with their sticky burden of sweet oil began to work on his shoulders.

It was very much like yesterday. Initially, Illya's touch was very uncertain, highly tentative until instinct kicked in and Illya forgot to be self-conscious. Then, the rub-down became pure heaven.

The kneading didn't hurt nearly as much as it had the previous day. In fact, it hurt no more than any other massage done for pure pleasure would.

That wasn't to say that it wasn't effective.

Napoleon was hard as a rock before Illya's hands had moved half-way down his back. By the time Illya was actually working on his thighs and buttocks, Napoleon was grunting in open need.

"There. That's done it," Illya huskily exclaimed, apparently realizing that Solo's moans had little to do with pain. The very tone of Illya's voice, part excitement, part fear, told Napoleon that his partner was trying to back out before things got too hot to handle again.

Solo, having passed that point himself some time shortly after he'd stepped out of the bathroom, was having none of it.

"Aren't you forgetting?" Napoleon's aroused voice was unrecognizable to even his own ears. "There's a whole other side."

With that, Solo rolled over. The erection he'd been pressing into the mattress' unyielding hardness sprang to abrupt attention.

Napoleon heard Illya's gasp, felt the wall of shock and Illya's growing impulse to bolt.

Before Illya could draw his next breath, Napoleon reached out to capture a baby oil smeared wrist. "Finish it," he throatily commanded, leading Illya's boneless hand to his own pulsing cock. 

Napoleon wrapped the nerveless fingers around his shaft, waiting until they curled around him of their own accord and tightened their grip before he released his hold.

His gaze locked on his shell-shocked partner's, Solo silently persuaded his friend to continue.

Like a man in a dream, Illya swallowed hard and began to pump the organ he held.

The fair lids swept down to shield Illya's gaze, his cheeks coloring with either embarrassment or excitement – Solo couldn't tell which. Drawing a deep breath, Illya seemed to find an internal rhythm for his stroke, his free hand reaching out to tentatively explore Solo's balls and the thick, springy pubic hair there.

Grunting, Napoleon reached for this partner's shoulders, wanting Illya on the bed here beside him so that he could return some of this delightful fondling.

He met with surprising resistance. After a momentary struggle, Illya's left hand abandoned Solo's testicles to push his hands away.

"Please, I want to touch you…" Solo pleaded.

"No." Illya's whisper sounded almost choked. "It's not right for you."

"Illya?" Napoleon pleaded even though his game plan demanded that it be Illya who begged for his touch.

"Ssssh, relax, Napoleon, enjoy…" And then, before Solo could make further protest, Illya's head lowered over his groin.

In the course of his lurid past, Solo had had better blow jobs than the one his untutored partner gave him, but none had moved on the same emotional level Illya's did. With a sense of stunned disbelief, he watched Illya's soft pink tongue tip hesitantly touch his cockhead.

As the resulting sensations blasted through him, Solo could see his friend frown as he sampled the flavor, seeming to decide if he liked it enough to continue.

"More," Solo groaned, aroused to fever pitch by the erotic image of his insouciant partner performing this highly intimate service for him. His hips arched towards the hesitant Russian in instinctive need.

Once again, the uncertain tongue tip returned, playing back and forth across the slip of his cock and its spongy head, filling Napoleon's world with unequalled delight. The sensations were sublime, the pleasure this repressed man gave him almost unreal in its intensity.

Whimpering helplessly under the sweet torture, Solo clawed the sheets and begged for more.

When the joy became too much to bear, he grabbed hold of his partner's head. Burying his fingers deep in the exquisite fall of over-long blond hair, Napoleon forced his friend's head down where he wanted it.

Left with no choice, Illya's mouth opened to receive the cock that thrust up at him.

Napoleon couldn't help the wildness of his thrust, so sharp was the need driving him.

Illya choked at that first, rough intrusion and instinctively pulled back.

Not wanting to hurt, Solo let his partner go, ignoring the demands his greedy flesh was making.

Even as he released his hold, Napoleon knew his partner might refuse to continue. Illya might, in fact, get up and walk away from him.

Solo read that very thought in Illya's magnetic gaze, saw that, as much as Illya wanted this, he was also afraid of it. Whether it were the sex, Solo himself, or a combination of the two, that fear was real.

Shaking with need, Solo's lust demanded that he grab that over-long blond hair and force Illya down, to violently make Illya complete what he'd started yesterday afternoon. The compulsion to do just that was nearly impossible to ignore.

Their connection at that point appeared to be nearly telepathic, the same type of wordless communication that operated between them on a case. The apprehension in Illya's strained features and wary gaze told Napoleon that his partner knew exactly what impulses were raging through him.

To Napoleon's bewilderment, his partner didn't flee.

As Solo reached for him, Illya's eyes sank closed again and his Adam's apple bobbed in near palpable dread of what he feared was about to be done to him, but he didn't avoid Napoleon's dangerous need. Illya stood fast. As much as anything Napoleon knew about his partner was telling him that he longed to escape, Illya did not bolt and abandon him here on the edge.

It was that knowledge that allowed him to touch his partner with the gentleness this tender man deserved. He lightly ran the knuckles of his left index finger over Illya's cheekbone, down the baby smooth slope of cheek until his friend found the strength to open his eyes and look at him.

The trepidant Illya appeared braced for scorn or anger, and was for once achingly vulnerable to either.

Stunned, Napoleon realized that Illya was even less familiar with the rules of this game that he. In fact, Illya didn't know the game at all. The lack of experience was gaping and unmistakable.

"Do…whatever feels comfortable," Solo grated out over his raging, base instincts. "Just…don't leave me like this…please…"

Compassion, or something Solo dared not name, softened Illya's face. With a shaky smile, his parter reached for him.

Napoleon watched as his friend gathered his hungry shaft into his palm, struck by the contrast between the dark purple of his cock and the absolute white of his partner's skin. The sensation of that fist closing around him was nothing short of exquisite.

As Illya recommenced a steady pumping, Solo's breathing became more and more irregular. His nerves were on fire when that fair head lowered again.

This time Napoleon was sucked in without hesitation. The resulting sensations were unreal. Nothing was supposed to feel that good…

Igniting like a stick of primed TNT, Solo's reality exploded with pleasure. No sooner did that hot mouth close around his length and that wet tongue make him welcome as best it knew how, then Napoleon was climaxing. The powerful convulsions of pure delight seemed to be milked from the very depths of his soul.

Even as he came, Solo was aware of how ill prepared his partner was for this. Illya gave a small strangled sound as Napoleon's seed flooded his throat, choking before he gained control.

After that initial discomfort, Illya began to suck in earnest.

Reeling under the ecstatic convulsions which continued to rock his body, Solo watched as Illya awkwardly drank down spurt after spurt of the no-doubt vile-tasting by-product. Illya's normally guarded features were strangely gentled, intent in their desire to please…soft as they performed this selfless act of untainted love.

Love? His stoic, unemotional partner?

Shocked by the thought, even as he floated in the well being of aftermath, Napoleon recognized that there was nothing else it could be.

Illya, in love with him?

It was a startling development, one Napoleon wasn't quite sure how to deal with.

"Ah, Illya…so good…" he sighed when his partner eventually released his now flaccid organ.

He caught Illya's face between his palms as Illya lifted his head from his groin. 

The naked uncertainty Solo read in the handsome features raked through his sleepy contentment.

"I…" Illya began and faltered, swallowing hard, his cheeks going scarlet.

Solo drowned that awkward opening with a kiss.

Illya seemed so shocked by the action that he wasn't even able to reject it.

Feeling as if he were attempting to seduce a mannequin, Solo put everything he was into that kiss. The lingering passion, the confusion, the newly discovered desire…all of it tempered with a unique tenderness Napoleon had never experienced before.

Something about this self-sufficient loner got behind his guards as no willing woman ever had. He wanted to hold Illya, touch him, do things he'd never dreamed of before. What he really desired was to take this man into his heart and make Illya his own, his shocked heart admitted.

Illya's groan of protest was lost between their mouths as Napoleon's tongue pushed its way past his startled lips.

Solo fully expected to be violently repelled for this, but Illya made no effort to push him off.

Meeting no rejection, Solo fed feverishly at his partner's succulent mouth. Degree by slow degree, shock gave way to active participation, Illya's mouth melting against him all at once, returning his ardor. To Solo's intense arousal, he could taste the sour remnants of his own semen in the other man's saliva.

"Mmmm…" Napoleon sighed when breath became a necessity. His flat palm dreamily stroked down the front of Illya's hopelessly rumpled shirt. He could feel Illya's left nipple, rock hard and erect, feel the mad pounding of his heart below it.

"What of you, my friend?" Solo silkily murmured. "What would you like? I could return the favor…" he heard himself casually offer, even while he wondered if he'd really have the nerve to attempt it.

Illya blinked as if surprised to find himself here, in this situation with Napoleon. "That is…not necessary."

"What do you mean? You can't be saying you don't want…" Solo stammered.

"I'm afraid it's a moot point," Illya softly denied, a hint of a smile playing about his kiss-reddened lips.

"Huh?" Solo brilliantly enquired. "I'd…like to please you."

"You have already pleasured me to capacity," Illya reported.

"You mean you…came?" Solo gasped, startled. "Just from…that?"

"Just?" Illya chuckled, his eyes so bright they almost seemed to be glowing. "There is nothing 'just' about you, Napoleon Solo."

Solo for once found himself speechless, humbled by the compliment his partner had paid him.

"I feel I should…" Solo began, the curiosity and soft indulgence in Illya's strong features sent an unexpected quiver through him. "…thank you, my friend."

At Solo's use of the word "friend," a nearly imperceptible tension seemed to lift from Illya's face. "You are most welcome, Napoleon." The pale hand stroked Solo's brow, lightly petting Napoleon's temples and cheeks in an oddly cherishing gesture of open affection. "Sleep now, my friend."

A sleepy smile of contentment played across his lips as Napoleon followed the near hypnotic suggestion and finally gave himself over to the exhaustion that had been plaguing him since their sight-seeing expedition. As he drifted off, it seemed to Solo that he could feel Illya's dry, soft lips brush over his closed eyelids.

So good, so right…

When Solo opened his eyes a million years later, after a night of only sweet, sensual dreams, it was to find the other side of the bed empty and bright sunlight streaming in through the open window.

Ridiculously panicked, Napoleon sat up and stared around the room.

"Good morning," Illya greeted from the familiar green chair. Illya was fully dressed. Both their packed suitcases rested beside the armchair.

"Hi," the sleepy Solo replied, feeling absurdly shy under that impenetrable blue gaze. Although it wasn't icy, there wasn't anything particularly welcoming about it.

In no doubt this morning about what had occurred last night, Solo watched his friend shift uncomfortably in his seat. When it became obvious that Illya once again planned to make no reference to what had passed between them, Napoleon asked in a carefully controlled tone, "So how do you want to play this?"

"There is no 'this' to play, Napoleon," Illya replied with equal care, as if handling dangerous explosives.

"No?" Pleased, Napoleon saw Illya gulp at his own challenge. He sat up, making sure the sheets kept him covered.

The silent accusation in his stare apparently had at least as much effect on his partner as it did with THRUSH prisoners, for Illya abandoned his bluff. His cheeks flushed, his eyes lowering almost self-consciously. "For the sake of both our careers, there can be nothing more, Napoleon. Surely, you must see the necessity of restraint?"

Unable to believe how much the sensible rejection hurt, Solo stiffly demanded, "Then why start? And please don't pretend that first afternoon was just an accident. You knew what you were doing when you touched me there, didn't you? The truth, Illya!"

Kuryakin's complexion had gone whiter than the sheets shielding Napoleon's groin. After a moment's hesitation, he gave a reluctant nod. "Yes, I knew."

"But why? If you didn't want…?" Solo tried to make sense of this insanity. He felt as if his parnter had just given him a taste of heaven and then purposefully slammed the gates on him.

As much as it hurt, Solo knew this man well enough to trust that Illya was not simply playing games with him. As incomprehensible as Illya's actions had been, Napoleon knew that there had to be some kind of logical reason for them.

The lowered head didn't rise, Illya seeming to address his confession to his newly shined shoe tops. "You were not conscious of it, but…every time I came near you after we returned from Gurnius' lab, you flinched from my touch. A friendship might survive such strain, but a partnership such as ours cannot. Your subconscious couldn't help but equate my touch with pain. It occurred to me that if I could replace that memory with pleasant recollections, the situation would mend itself, so I offered the massage. I never imagined that you would enjoy it in…that way. But when you did…respond sexually…"

Enraged by the cold-blooded, calculated seduction, Solo prodded, "Yes?"

"I made use of your sensuality. Sexual release has always been so therapeutic for you that I thought…to capitalize upon it. However, I failed to include certain…emotional factors in my calculations." Shadowed with genuine remorse, the incredible blue eyes hesitantly met his own. "I am sorry, Napoleon. I meant only to heal."

It was infuriating to think that his best friend would play with his emotions this way, as though he were some lab specimen.

Ready to rip into the presumptious bastard, Solo took a closer look at his partner's face. The deathly pallor told Napoleon that he wasn't the only one who'd been hurt here. Abruptly, he recalled how Illya had come that night, without Solo's ever once touching him. That helpless reaction bespoke a degree of involvement that eclipsed even Solo's own.

Napoleon quickly recalculated the role he'd cast his partner in. Illya wasn't some heartless scientist with ice blood in his veins. To the contrary, Illya was more like a school kid with a science project too advanced for his level, a kid who'd been hideously burned by his own misplaced intentions and damnable curiosity.

Illya was sitting there now in total disgrace, looking as if he were facing a death sentence.

With difficulty, Napoleon tried to swallow his anger. "You're not a child, Illya. Surely you must have realized what you were doing?"

"I…didn't think it would mean anything…with me…I thought…" Illya shrugged. "It is painfully obvious that I wasn't thinking at all, Napoleon. You have every right to be…incensed with me."

Solo studied the downbent head, the last of his anger melting. After a moment, he asked in a less judgmental tone, "For what – wanting to bring me pleasure?"

Illya's chin snapped up, his eyes flashing with self-recrimination. "I have hopelessly complicated our working relationship. You will never forget what I did to you here in this room." After a deep, weighty pause, Illya reluctantly confessed, "Neither will I."

"That's good," Solo responded, much more his normal self.

"Good?" His partner sounded horrified.

"Being forgettable is not something at which I've ever worked." Solo smiled, desperately trying to lighten the mood.

"This is no joking matter, Napoleon," Illya snapped.

"No, it's not. With your misguided intentions, you opened a kettle of fish here that we're not going to be able to put the lid on and just forget about. For the record – I enjoyed...what we shared in this room." Catching those brilliant eyes and holding them fast, Solo hammered what might be the final nails into his coffin by being totally honest. "I enjoyed you. I'd like the opportunity to explore this further, but... obviously you're not comfortable with that idea...yet."

"Napoleon," Illya nervously warned, visibly uncomfortable with what Napoleon might say next.

Only Illya Kuryakin would stand firm against the irretrievable and try to hold back the flood waters once the dam walls had crumbled. 

Having anticipated nothing else, Solo simply smiled. To his way of thinking, this particular genie had been let out of its bottle two days ago and he had no desire whatsoever to see it stuffed back. "That's all right, Illya. You may not believe it, but I can be a very patient man when I have to be. You're worth the wait."

"The wait?" Illya seemed nearly mesmerized by whatever what was in Solo's eyes.

"You don't seriously believe this is over, do you?" Solo softly questioned, genuinely curious as to what his often enigmatic young friend was thinking.

"Napoleon, for the sake of both our careers, this must never happen again," Illya insisted.

"You're completely right," Solo agreed. "It shouldn't. But it will. Count on it."

"Napoleon…"

Reading naked anxiety in this normally unshakable man's gaze, Napoleon took sympathy on him. "It's all right, Illya. We'll play by your rules. You can call the shots. For now."

"This will not happen again," Illya vowed.

"Maybe, but that's up to you, my friend. When you change your mind, I'll be right beside you," Napoleon promised.

"Your egotism is excelled only by your arrogance," Illya snapped, so furious his lips were lined with white, he'd pinched them closed so tight. "I will wait for you downstairs. Do hurry. We have a plane to catch."

Illya was halfway to the door when Solo softly called his name in a bedroom voice. "Illya?"

Illya froze, but didn't turn to face him. "Yes?"

"Any time you're ready, I'm game. I won't play dirty, but I won't make this easy for you."

His challenge cast and accepted by the imperceptible stiffening of the other's spine, Illya glared blue ice at him over his shoulder. "I expected nothing else. It will not happen again, Napoleon. I will see you downstairs."

Exercising the better part of valor, Illya cleared the battlefield, leaving Solo to bathe and dress before beginning this new and exciting game.


	2. The Games People Play Affair

In twenty years of active pursuit of the opposite sex, Napoleon Solo had dated and bedded some of the most stunning women the world had to offer. Models, actresses of the stage and screen, stewardesses, even royalty had paraded through his bed, but even the most breath-taking of these beauties paled in comparison to his present companion, Katarina Lacouix.

Katarina was nothing short of exquisite. Her beauty was so intense that it was nearly unnatural. Her honey gold curls fell in fat ringlets around her swan-sleek neck. Her eyes were a truer, deeper blue than the Mediterranean Sea. When added to her peaches and cream complexion, naturally rosy cheeks, cherry red, pouty lips, the effect was lethal. Among women, Katarina Lacouix was a goddess. Her elegance, her grace, and poise...kings had given up thrones for beauty such as hers.

At the moment, Napoleon had Miss Lacouix all to himself, or as all to himself as he could in a crowded Parisian restaurant where every man present sat gaping at his dinner date. He was planning on moving their tête-à-tête to a more private venue, but so far the lady, although faultlessly charming, had been less than receptive to his overtures. But Solo was hopeful.

Their hands had brushed too many times across the dinner table for it to be sheer accident. Katarina was putting out all the right signals, telling him that she wanted to spend the night with him, but for some reason they were still here in this damnably public place.

The orchestra struck up a slow jazzy number that was as slinky and silky as Solo's present companion. Listening to the sensual blend of sax and bass, Napoleon couldn't help but think that his partner would enjoy the band.

_Damn, _Solo mentally cursed as thoughts of the quiet Russian flooded his mind. He'd been doing so well tonight. Katarina was just the ticket to keep his mind off the unobtainable. She was beautiful, cultured, sensual – everything a red-blooded male could ask for.__

__Only, she wasn't Illya._ _

__As the band struck up the steamy number, Solo wanted nothing so much as to be back in the U.N.C.L.E. agents' shared hotel room. He could picture his partner right now. Illya would be lying there alone in his narrow twin bed by now, reading one of his enormous science texts, his horn-rimmed glasses either in the process of sliding down his nose or perched precariously on its upturned tip. Illya would probably be wearing his prim, button-down, powder blue pajamas. His shimmering gold hair would catch and amplify the lamplight..._ _

__Solo cursed his own lack of control, despising this weakness in himself. It was pathetic, really, how his reality had been so radically readjusted since that San Rico mission three months ago when Illya had been forced to torture him while in the guise as a long lost Nazi war criminal's son._ _

__Napoleon forced the dangerous topic from his consciousness, tightening his resolve. He would not think about San Rico; he would not allow himself to remember the events which had followed the Gurnius mission, and he absolutely would not dwell upon the fateful massage that had gone a touch too far, the feel of Illya's hands and mouth..._ _

__"Napoleon, Napoleon!" Even when Katarina called in an annoyed voice, it still sounded sexy._ _

__With a conscious effort, Solo focused on the stunning blonde at his side. As he did, a petty part of his mind pointed out how his partner's natural wheat and gold hair outshone her bleached perfection. "Mmmm?"_ _

__"Are you all right, Napoleon? You were miles away." Obviously, this incredibly lovely woman was not used to being ignored by her male escort._ _

__"Forgive me. I was just...imagining how sweet it would be to hold you in my arms for a dance or two," Solo smoothly covered. He was not so far gone as to insult a gorgeous woman by telling her he was indulging in daydreams of a cantankerous, repressed, very male Russian while ignoring her many charms. "Would you care to make my dreams come true?"_ _

__A sly smile rounded her bowed lips as Katarina giggled. "We would be arrested if I made your dreams come true here, Napoleon. But if you would like, I would not mind a dance or two."_ _

__"Ah, I will die a satisfied man in that case," he purred. Rising, Napoleon played the gentleman's part, pulling out her chair for her and offering his arm._ _

__She glided into his arms on the dance floor like something not of this Earth. She was so graceful that her feet never seemed to touch the floor. Angels should have such poise, Solo thought as he guided her into a slow dance._ _

__Her midnight black gown was long and flowing, a diaphanous affair of sparkles that twinkled around her slim figure like fairy dust. Her perfume was as French and tantalizing as Katarina herself. Solo thought it was something from the Chanel line, but definitely not #5._ _

__As Napoleon's hand settled on her lower back as they swayed in time, he didn't have to feign interest in the lady. She would tempt a dead man in that gown, and Solo was anything but dead._ _

__They swirled to the music, Katarina pressing closer and closer to him at every turn. The pert peaks of her breasts pressing into his dress shirt were highly distracting. "Mmmmm, you dance divinely," he murmured as she brushed her whole front suggestively against him. He nearly gasped as her pubic mound nudged at his already aching erection. God, but she was magnificent._ _

__Katarina's extreme feminine beauty and the feel of her warm, supple flesh succeeded in capturing his full attention where his will alone had failed. Every sense he owned focused upon her as a hunting cougar’s would on its prey._ _

__Determined to win her, Solo turned on his brightest smile and twirled her around the dance floor as the orchestra moved on to a brighter tune._ _

__But even as he made his play, Napoleon knew how futile the effort would be. She was a temporary distraction, at best. Beauties like her could catch his attention, but they didn't have what it took to hold it. Solo was beginning to realize that there was only one person who did._ _

__Sleeping with the lovely Katarina wouldn't burn his partner's memory from his mind or his flesh, but, if the Fates were kind, she would give him a few hours of respite from the non-stop wanting. These days, a few hours solace was all Solo could hope for._ _

__As it turned out, the Fates did not smile on him that night._ _

__Less than an hour later, a very disgruntled Solo was making his disgusted way back to their hotel room._ _

__He was grateful that it was winter. His long overcoat would conceal his embarrassing erection._ _

__The sublime Katarina was truly not of this world, Solo mentally grumped. She'd spent the night tempting and teasing him with her flashing eyes and provocative touches, but, being the perfect ice sculpture that she was, Katarina had left him panting in the hotel lobby. Miss Lacouix had been as unmovable in her resolve to sleep alone as a twenty-ton block of stone. Napoleon had never dated so heartless a woman. She'd purposefully aroused him all evening, playing her coy French parlor games of stolen touches, then left him with his balls twisted in knots._ _

__Napoleon didn't like to speak or even think unkindly of the fairer sex, but the lovely Katarina had been nothing but a cock tease. As crude as the appellation was, it fit his frigid Cinderella better than the proverbial glass slipper._ _

__Finally at the room, Solo searched his pockets for his key. With any luck, Illya would be asleep already. That would allow Napoleon to deal with this embarrassing problem in the limited privacy of his lonely twin bed._ _

__His rotten luck, however, held true._ _

__Bright light assaulted his eyes as Solo finally got the stubborn door to open. Napoleon barely saw the quaint, comfortable room. He froze on the threshold, staring down the bore of Illya's deadly Smith & Wesson._ _

__"Do me a favor and put me out of my misery," Solo requested. "It would be a mercy killing."_ _

__He tried not to notice that Illya was precisely as Solo had imagined his partner earlier: propped up on the pillows of his skinny bed with a heavy tome open in his lap. The old book was nearly as wide as Illya's waist. Illya's thick, geeky glasses gave him a myopic, absurdly adorable air. His fine blond hair blazed like melted gold. The only discrepancy between the living man before him and Solo's fantasy of an hour ago were the pajamas Illya wore. These were a mint green, not blue._ _

__"You are home early tonight," Illya commented as he returned the gun to its resting-place beneath his pillows. "Didn't things go well with Miss Lacouix? She was quite lovely."_ _

__Napoleon wished that his partner didn't sound quite so casual. Didn't it bother Illya at all that he had planned to sleep with his date? Wasn't Illya the least bit jealous?_ _

__Keeping a tight reign on his temper, Solo replied, "She was exquisite, for an ice sculpture. Pardon me, I don't intend to be rude, but I'm late for an appointment with a cold shower."_ _

__Leaving his coat and scarf draped over a convenient chair, Napoleon retreated to the bathroom, wishing that he'd had the sense to book a single room._ _

__What kind of masochist was he, anyway? To spend the night courting a heartless beauty and then return to pine over the object of his true desires – whom he couldn't touch because of that damn promise he'd given Illya._ _

__It had seemed so simple that last morning in San Rico. Just stand back and let nature take its course. Napoleon had sensed how unnerved his partner was by their new sexual awareness of each other. Years of dealing with the stubborn Russian had taught him how futile it was to attempt to force Illya into anything, let alone something as intimate and emotional as sex. The pull between them had been so strong that Solo had been certain that Illya would come around._ _

__So, Napoleon had backed off, promising to let Illya call the shots, allowing his reserved and cautious friend time to come to terms with the changes in their relationship. He'd been supremely confident in his ability to win even U.N.C.L.E.'s resident Ice King, if given enough time and constant exposure._ _

__What Solo had forgotten was his partner's almost inhuman self-control. From the moment they'd left San Rico, Illya seemed blind to Solo as a sexual entity. Napoleon had done everything he could think of during the last three months to win his friend: he'd been patient; he'd been charming; he'd run the gauntlet from subtly suggestive, to provocative, to openly flirtatious. He'd even sunk so low as to try to make Illya jealous by openly courting women in front of his partner. But, so far, Illya was having none of it. For all the notice Illya had taken of him, Solo might just as well have been invisible._ _

__Napoleon didn't know what had hurt worse – his pride and ego at being so easy to ignore, his rampant, frustrated libido...or the part of him that couldn't forget the extreme tenderness of Illya's touch and ached for its loss._ _

__But at the moment, Solo's ache was a bit more physical in nature._ _

__As Napoleon stripped down in the bathroom, he considered relieving the problem with his faithful right hand. Only, he'd been stupid enough to announce the situation to his partner. His pride wouldn't allow him to jerk off in the john like some seedy low life in a strip joint. He hadn't fallen that far yet._ _

__The icy blast of cold water in the shower quelled the fire in his flesh and damn near froze his epidermis off. Shivering uncontrollably, Solo quickly soaped up, rinsed off, and killed the water before he developed frost bite. His teeth chattering, Napoleon stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel to viciously scrub himself dry._ _

__Although the cold shower had served its original purpose and tamed his humiliating erection, it had produced its own complication. Napoleon was now completely wide awake._ _

__The restlessness in his blood ensured that it wouldn't be long before his former tormentor reared its hungry little head again. _Damn, what a night. _____

____Grimacing, Solo tugged his robe on, grateful that he'd had the foresight to leave it hanging in the bathroom this morning. At least he wouldn't have to stand naked before the Ice King._ _ _ _

____While exiting the bath, Solo didn't even allow himself to glance in Illya's direction. His back to his partner, he shrugged out of his robe and slipped under the covers._ _ _ _

____Napoleon’s body reacted instantly to the sensual brush of cool linen against his bare skin. He could feel himself harden almost as soon as he crawled between the sheets. _So much for cold showers, _Solo grimly thought as he tried to get comfortable.___ _ _ _

______"Good night, Napoleon," Illya said a few moments later, his voice sounding strangely gentle._ _ _ _ _ _

______Wishing that he weren't so pathetically attracted to this unemotional man, Solo kept his back to his friend and stared at the blank wall beside his bed. "Good night."_ _ _ _ _ _

______He heard Illya's book close, then the plastic snap-snap as he folded his glasses and stored them in their case for the night. A heartbeat later, the bedside lamp clicked off and blessed darkness claimed the room._ _ _ _ _ _

______Breathing a sigh of relief, Napoleon rolled over onto his back. Illya's personal habits were as predictable as the rising sun. Three, four minutes, tops, then the gentle snoring would start, soft as a kitten's purr. After that, Solo would be free to deal with his problem in a more effective manner._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon restlessly shifted onto his side, waiting in visceral anticipation of the instant his partner would fall asleep, when he'd be free to move._ _ _ _ _ _

______Solo watched as the bedside travel alarm relentlessly ticked off the passing minutes, still no snore._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon turned over again, then again some time later._ _ _ _ _ _

______Twenty minutes had to have passed. His body was once again screaming for relief, but Solo could tell by his partner's breathing that Illya was still wide-awake._ _ _ _ _ _

______Great, all he needed was for the Ice King to get insomnia on tonight of all nights. Illya had the hearing of a hunting hound. There was no way on Earth that Napoleon could take care of his problem with his partner wide awake and listening less than three feet away._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cursing his luck, Solo rolled onto his back again._ _ _ _ _ _

______An unexpected movement in the room snapped Napoleon into a state of instant alertness. Survival instincts honed from years of experience on the job had him reaching under his pillow for his gun before he'd even consciously focused on the threat._ _ _ _ _ _

______His groping hand met only cool sheets, no gun. Furious with himself, Napoleon belatedly realized that while in his previous state of sexual frustration, he'd left his weapon hanging on the back of the bathroom door with the clothes he'd worn tonight. _Of all the stupid, irresponsible stunts, _he silently fumed.___ _ _ _ _ _

________If Illya were truly asleep and simply not snoring tonight, they could be in quite a bit of hot water here. Napoleon knew that an assassin would take him the moment he moved. The disturbance might wake Illya in time to defend himself. Illya was the best there was at this game. His friend might get the bastard before being shot himself, but one's reaction time was always lowest immediately after falling asleep. Illya mightn’t have the time to focus before he, too, met his end. Solo knew that his stupidity might very well cost them both their lives._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Damn, how had he been stupid enough to leave his weapon in another room like some damn rookie _?__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Tensed to make his move, Solo froze as the winter moonlight seeping in between the lace curtains on the window picked out a familiar shimmer. His action-primed muscles untensed as the worried Solo practically sagged with relief. It was just Illya - on his way to the john, no doubt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Slightly confused, Napoleon remembered that the bathroom was in the opposite direction. They traveled so much in this line of work that they were lucky if they recalled what country they were in, let alone the layout of each particular hotel room. After a while, the rooms became just a blur of beds and cranky plumbing. Illya would doubtless orient himself in a moment and head back towards the bathroom. Or maybe all that reading had given his studious friend a headache. Illya might be going to the bureau for an aspirin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________But Illya didn’t seem to be heading for the chest of drawers where they’d left the first aid kit, either._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________In the cat and mouse game they played with death every day, any deviation from the norm was cause for concern. Everyone was suspect, including one’s own partner. Napoleon couldn’t even count the number of times THRUSH had sent some ringer in to kill one of them. This could be another double or some insidious android made to look like Kuryakin or it could simply be Illya._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The not knowing kept Solo primed for action, tensed in breathless anticipation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Completely alert, Napoleon watched as his companion paused at his bedside. There was no gun in Illya’s hand, no overt threat. Every instinct Solo owned was telling him that this was his partner. Illya simply stood there in his baggy pajamas, his indecision almost palpable._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________About to inquire if something were wrong, the words froze in Solo's throat, choked by his body's helpless reaction to the moonlit figure. Illya was so pale, almost ghostly, like some vision snatched out of a dream. Mystery seemed to crackle around his still figure like static electricity. Suddenly, Illya was a creature of the night, a wraith of quicksilver and shadows, almost unearthly in his beauty._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________A whitish glint of gossamer hair or flashing eye, his face paler than alabaster...that was all Solo could pick out in the low light. Illya’s expression and intent were lost to the cloaking shadows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Solo knew that he should make some type of challenge. At the very least, he should ask Illya what he was doing, but Napoleon was loathe to break the spell._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Illya was coming to his bed _. Solo had dreamt of this moment for the past three months, lived for it...__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"The cold shower didn’t help, did it?" Illya whispered, his deep voice as intimate as a lover’s caress._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________With the window positioned behind Illya’s back as it was, his face was thrown totally in shadow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Unable to see so much as Illya’s eyes, Napoleon swallowed hard and gave a mute, negative shake of his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The silence that followed seemed to thicken like honey around them, stretching out through several eternities._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Or so it seemed to the anxious Napoleon, who was beginning to feel like an insect trapped in amber as he waited under the watchful stare he could feel studying him out of the darkness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He wished he could see Illya’s face so that he could guess what the other man was thinking, feeling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Finally, the stasis broke with shocking suddenness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Solo gasped as his partner reached out and snagged the covers. Wordlessly, Illya tugged the bedclothes aside, baring Napoleon to the chill night air. Napoleon's skin convulsed into a shivery coat of goosebumps as he gaped up at his partner, shocked and excited to his core by the unexpected act._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Yes?" Illya questioned, that one tense word encapsulating everything and nothing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Speechless at the abrupt move, Solo struggled to find his voice. With someone else, pulling the covers aside as Illya had done might have come across as crude or even violent, but with Illya..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________His partner didn’t play by the rules most others lived their lives by. Napoleon knew that the quiet loner was almost completely innocent concerning affairs of the heart. Illya might have more intellectual ability than any man living, but when it came to social niceties, he was as blundering as a child raised by wolves. This mightn’t be the smoothest seduction Solo had ever encountered, but Napoleon loved nothing more than his partner’s blunt honesty. This was simply Illya’s stumbling way of confronting an issue that he didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to tackle conventionally._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Naked, Solo shivered under his partner’s gaze, his erection rising big as a .44 Magnum, pointing straight at the object of his desires. He didn’t understand everything Illya’s question was asking, but there could be only one answer. "Yes."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Napoleon felt, rather than saw, those pale blue eyes rake down his bare flesh, like a lord surveying his territory._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Solo started to sit up, reaching hungrily to make his companion welcome. But Illya's right palm landed flat in the center of his chest, firmly pushing him back against the pillows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Don't move," Illya ordered in an emotion thick whisper._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The very syllables shuddered through Napoleon with dark promise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He lay totally still as Illya's hand stroked down his sternum to the softness of belly. The simple stroke shot fire through his loins like some exotic foreplay. Napoleon's entire system seemed to jolt with the shock of that warm touch. His heart leapt in his chest, his guts constricting with almost painful pleasure as a strangled moan escaped his lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Illya, please..." Solo begged helplessly, shamed by this need he couldn't control. He'd never felt desire this fierce, not anything that would bring him to this pathetic state of dependency so fast. Illya had just touched him once – a nearly impersonal stroke, nowhere near his genitals – and Napoleon felt ready to come. It was utterly humiliating._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Only, Solo didn't care about pride. He didn't care what it took, so long as it got Illya to break down and make love to him. All he wanted was to hold this incredible man in his arms and rediscover that wondrous joy they'd found in San Rico. He wanted to shower his partner with the same kind of tender care Illya had given him three months ago._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Sssh, no words," Illya commanded in that same sensual whisper that shivered right through Napoleon's blood._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Please, Illya..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The hand withdrew from Napoleon's chest as Illya retreated several steps back from the bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________In the dim light, Solo could just make out the determined set of the other man's jaw and the challenging arch his partner's left eyebrow gave. Like a statue carved of cold white marble, Illya stood there, silently waiting._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Illya's message was clear, for all that it remained unvoiced. It was his way, or nothing at all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Warning or threat, it didn't matter. Solo's jaw snapped shut. Meeting the shadowed gaze that he could only feel and not see, he gave a slow nod, authorizing...anything. He was so hungry for this that he'd let the other man handcuff him to the bed, if that were the degree of submission his wary partner required from him before Illya would feel secure enough to continue._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________His nod appeared to be enough. Seeming to take him at his word, Illya approached the bed, his hesitation palpable._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Watching his partner, Napoleon couldn't help but think that Illya was as overwhelmed by this as he was himself. He couldn't see facial expression at all, but the tension in the slender form and the body language of this person he knew better than any other on Earth told Napoleon that his companion was fighting against this for all that he was worth, and that Illya was losing his battle, just as Solo had lost his own when he'd attempted to put San Rico behind him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Unlike their first encounters where the hesitant Russian had seduced Solo’s vulnerable body by slow degrees during a massage, Illya wasn't subtle tonight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Try as he would, Napoleon was unable to hold in the whimper as Illya lightly trailed the fingertips of his right hand down the inside of his thigh. His legs splayed wide apart, his hips arching frantically up at this tender demon wearing Illya Kuryakin's cool visage._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Lightning darted along Napoleon’s nerve endings as those talented fingertips lightly skimmed the thick body hair downing his inner thighs. Solo’s cock throbbed and pulsed larger, scant inches above the tantalizing touch. Illya’s fingers whisked down the sensitive region almost to Napoleon’s knees in a feather-light brush, before beginning their slow journey back up, falling maddeningly short of the genitals._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________While Solo lay there, bound by that order not to move, lest he lose it all, he watched Illya’s free hand reach for his lightly downed chest. Illya found his left nipple, the first contact of those warm fingers bringing it totally erect. With characteristic curiosity and thoroughness, the Illya’s thumb and index finger came back to explore._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Normally, this wasn’t one of Solo’s most sensitive areas. His neck and thighs were far more vulnerable. But as Illya applied pressure to that tight little nub of flesh, Napoleon’s entire body seemed to burst to life. Every cell straight down to his toes felt the bolt of undiluted pleasure that shot through him. Reeling, he recalled how it had been the same in San Rico. Illya had touched him in places that had previously had little to no sensitivity and he'd all but swooned from the contact._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It was no different tonight. Napoleon couldn’t say how this man’s touch differed from the thousands of caresses females had given him throughout his life, all he knew was that everything Illya did seemed unnaturally intense. It was almost as though he were sensitized to Illya’s very aura. He began to realize that it didn’t matter what his partner did; it was simply the fact that it was Illya doing these things to him that made all the difference._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________By torturously slow degrees, the pressure of the caresses between Solo’s thighs increased. The feathery skim became a stroke, then a near scratch as Illya’s fingernails cautiously raked across the tender flesh. Illya didn’t break skin, just galvanized nerve-endings that were opened to receive the subtle feather touches._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Oh, God...Illya, please..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"No words," Illya sharply reminded, his voice so thick as to be nearly incomprehensible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Napoleon didn’t need any translation. The hands pulling back from his body were an explicit enough threat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Biting down on his lower lip, Solo gave a sharp nod of assent. Everything in him screamed for him to reach up and drag the smaller man down on top of him, to quit this nonsense and make love as two people were intended to: skin to skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________But there was nothing more implacable than his stubborn Russian. Illya had utterly inhuman control of his body. Napoleon was in absolutely no doubt that if he tried to force this issue, Illya could and would walk away from it, without so much as a backwards glance. And, God help him, he couldn’t afford to take that chance. He needed this, more than he’d ever needed anyone or thing in his entire, independent life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________So, instead of taking what he wanted, Solo lay there and waited for his partner to decide whether he would give it to him. Napoleon’s fingers tangled in the sheets to keep from reaching for his friend. His erection was a humiliating, painful monster rearing at his groin, begging for attention...as the Ice King stood over him and stared._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Solo’s pride smarted at the image he must present, cursing Illya for bringing him to these pathetic straits. But, still, Napoleon didn’t move or speak. Too much was at stake. And Illya, _damn him _, seemed to be enjoying his predicament.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________That last was just supposition on Napoleon’s part, for he couldn’t see the other man’s features well enough to catch a single clear emotion. But with Illya, such details were inconsequential. He could tell more from Illya’s body language than he could read in most men’s eyes, and years' worth of familiarity was telling him that the heartless bastard was savoring every second of this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Solo cursed himself for a fool. Only he could become so hopelessly fixated on someone so totally devoid of sympathy. But as there was no denying the situation. The realist in him bowed to its constraints. He’d play Illya’s game, for the moment. But someday, the tide would turn. And then...well, then he’d teach the trickster a thing or two about games._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Just when Napoleon was certain that Illya was going to turn his back and go to his own bed, he surprised him by returning, sinking down to his knees beside Napoleon’s bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Napoleon’s breath caught as his partner bent over his chest, the light from the window frosting Illya’s soft hair the eldritch silver of moonlit ice. He couldn’t help himself, he reached out for the shimmering cascade._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________To his great surprise, Illya permitted the touch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Illya’s hair was so incredibly soft, as lush to the touch as the coveted sable of his homeland. Napoleon was totally lost in its feel as the cool length slid between his fingers. Then Illya’s hot mouth fastened on his nipple and he was blown away by the contrast in sensations._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Whimpering in helpless frustration, Solo’s hips jerked spasmodically up at his friend, his body pleading for the attention it had craved from this unemotional man these last three months._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Solo cried out as Illya started to suck his nipple, rocked by the sensations. Worried by his lapse in control, he froze as the sound died on his lips, terrified that Illya would pull back once again. But apparently ‘no words’ meant just that. Inarticulate outcries seemed permissible in this strange game they were playing. Napoleon just wished that he knew all the rules._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Once Illya had sucked that nub to an aching, hard pebble, his luscious mouth nuzzled a path to Solo’s other nipple, granting it equal attention._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________For a man who’d felt little at his chest in prior encounters, Solo found his reality jarred by the liquid fire Illya’s sucking loosed in him. It left him boneless, literally sobbing for breath...and Illya hadn’t even touched his penis yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________For all Napoleon knew, Illya mightn’t even plan on actually touching him there. He was reacting so intensely to this basically tame foreplay, that there was every possibility that Illya could force him to come like this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Illya’s next move seemed to reinforce that concern, for his mouth trailed upwards instead of down. Illya licked up the center of his dark-downed chest to attack Napoleon’s throat with surprising fervor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________It was there that Napoleon knew that he was truly lost. His neck and ears were his most sensitive spots. The feel of that hot, moist breath scuttling down his neck left him a shuddering wreck. When Illya added his tongue-tip to the mix, tickling behind his ear...Napoleon’s body just went wild. Higher thought switched off and all he could do was feel...and react._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Moving slower than Siberia’s glaciers, Illya sucked his way up Solo’s throat. Napoleon was left a quivering mass of excited, boneless protoplasm in his partner’s wake. Then that wicked tongue started dipping into his aural canal and limning his earlobes, undoing him completely. By the time Illya was done there, Solo was twitching like a Mexican jumping bean. He knew that his tiny, needy cries made it plain that he was beyond pride, but he didn’t care anymore. It was hard for him to admit, but he recognized that he was beyond self-respect as well. The simple fact was that he would do anything this man asked of him, and they both knew it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________A part of him fully expected Illya to draw back and make a point of demonstrating Napoleon’s pathetic state of vulnerability by making Solo beg for more. It would certainly be in keeping with the power game Illya had been playing so far._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Almost in answer to that thought, Illya raised his head from where he’d been nuzzling Solo’s earlobe. But rather than lording his conquest over the shaken Napoleon, Illya surprised him by nuzzling along his jaw-line. His partner's right hand rose to pensively finger the mole on Solo’s left cheek._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Startled by the unexpected tenderness of the gesture, Napoleon stared up at his companion in disbelieving wonder. With Illya’s face still thrown in shadow, he still couldn’t make out much more than the whites of his partner’s eyes and Illya’s glistening moist lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________It was this last that nearly hypnotized Solo. Illya had the most amazing mouth he’d ever seen. So full and lethally sensual, it was such a sharp contrast to his ascetic character. Somehow, that pouty mouth had always made Solo suspect that his partner wasn’t as cold-blooded as he liked to let on. How could Illya be, with such utterly vulnerable lips? Surely, the man couldn’t have gone his entire life without dozens of people taking him up on the offer those lips unconsciously made every time Illya wet them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Sensing a yearning that matched his own behind that gentle gesture, the totally asexual caressing of his mole, Solo hoarsely begged, "Lie down beside me, please?" not caring if it was against Illya’s rules._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Illya froze above him, making Napoleon fear that his partner would once again desert him, perhaps permanently. But Illya didn’t pull back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Napoleon could almost feel the other man’s indecision. Scenting that weakness, Solo capitalized upon it for all that he was worth. He didn’t risk words again. Instead, he let his gaze reach up into the darkness from where he could feel Illya’s eyes watching him. Feeling as if he were courting a shadow or a specter of some long dead love who’d shatter at too physical an approach, Napoleon allowed his eyes to do his pleading. He was very aware that the moonlight, which masked Illya’s emotions, was giving his own away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________For a few seconds, Napoleon was certain that he had his friend. He could feel Illya weakening, that steely resolve slipping away at the open promise in Solo’s eyes...but at the last moment, Illya appeared to catch himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________With a reluctant shake of his head, Illya bent forward to kiss each of Solo’s eyes closed in turn. The utter tenderness of the gesture rocked through Napoleon. He could feel how much Illya wanted him. Why in the name of heavens did the stubborn fool keep refusing to allow their loving to take a more natural, even course?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________It made utterly no sense. Napoleon could tell by the way those near worshipping lips caressed his every feature that Illya longed for this the same as he did. But Illya was still kneeling there fully clothed, while Solo was about to pop._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________As if incapable of stopping himself, Illya took Solo’s mouth. There wasn’t even a hint of awkwardness as they opened up to each other, tongues greedily exploring as they drank deep of each other’s juices. The kiss was playful, loving, achingly tender._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Solo delved deeper into his friend, feeling as if he were peeling away a series of protective shells that hid this vulnerable man from the outside world of hurt and betrayal. Illya seemed to blossom under the tender contact, opening up, offering more of himself to the kiss. Illya’s sensual mouth worked avidly against his, inviting im to drown deeper and deeper in its sweet, juicy depths. There was an innocence to the Illya Solo found hiding here that rocked his to his very core. This was the Illya who wanted to laugh, but never could, who wanted to love, but didn’t dare._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________As Illya unveiled that part of himself to Solo, the last of the barriers protecting them from each other seemed to crumble and fall. What was left was...terrifying in its simplicity, an emotion so pure and bright that it seemed to strip away their every artifice, until all that remained was this naked, awkward truth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________In their line of work, love was a commodity that they could ill afford. It made an agent weak, vulnerable. When one’s beloved was on the line, it was hard to see the larger picture. Such chinks in one’s armor robbed an operative of his ability to do whatever was necessary to get a job done._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Napoleon knew that he should not welcome this emotion. It was not a cause for celebration. Rather, it could very well be their complete undoing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________And, yet, Solo had never experienced a joy quite so bright as the one that flared through him when he felt Illya’s formidable emotional barriers crumble, when for that single, brief moment, they touched soul to soul, with nothing between them but the truth and their burning bodies._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Their souls joining as intimately as their lips, they lay there a long time sharing this deadly discovery, savoring its fragile beauty. By acknowledging this feeling, Solo knew that they had just both signed their own death warrants. And, for the very first time in his life, Napoleon was content to do just that. For this sweet spirit, he would allow Fate to hold a hostage over him; he would accept one chink in his armor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________But the Ice King was not so ready to risk immolation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Napoleon knew fully well that this ruthless side of his friend had been formed in Illya’s formative years of intense privation. This unfeeling survivor was the part of Illya that made him the best agent U.N.C.L.E. had to offer, the part of Illya that kept him alive. Although he did not know the particulars, he was aware of the fact that his partner had seen his entire family die before his eyes during the war. That much was in Illya’s file. But the circumstances that had birthed this unemotional alter ego were shrouded in mystery. Caring as deeply for Illya as he did, he wasn’t even certain if he could bear the particulars that had birthed such a cold-blooded monster._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Solo felt the exact instant that the Ice King reasserted his control over this hidden Illya and slammed the door to Illya’s soul with the finality of a heavy iron prison cell banging shut._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The separation between Illya’s rational and emotional sides was that clear cut. Deep in his own heart, Napoleon swore he could feel that hidden Illya’s cry of despair as they were ripped asunder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The weirdest part of it was that it happened within a single kiss. One second, their souls were touching as they bared everything to each other, then, a single heartbeat later, Illya was kissing him with the cold technique of a bored whore. And not a thing had changed on the surface. They were still sharing the same breath and tasting each other’s saliva._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________After a few frozen moments, the Ice King pulled ruthlessly away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Solo followed, frantic to free the Illya imprisoned beneath all that cold perfection, but his partner would have none of it. Illya’s rational mind was once again firmly in control._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Napoleon was almost sobbing as the other man bent to kiss his way down his chest. His partner’s technique was faultless as Illya aroused him to fever pitch, but Solo didn’t want that expertise. He wanted his sweet, heartbreakingly vulnerable Illya back. Napoleon knew that if the Ice King had his way, he’d never see that trapped soul again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Unable to resist the lure of that talented tongue, Solo soon found himself writhing with need, his reality dictated by the pulsing flesh at his groin. In that moment, he almost hated the Ice King for bringing the encounter down to this base level._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________No one knew better than Illya how vulnerable he was to pleasures of the flesh. With calculated intent, that knowledge was being used to distract Napoleon from his higher goal._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________There was no hesitation at all as Illya neared Solo’s engorged cock. Unable to stop himself, he watched hungrily as the silver-gold head lowered over his burning need. With barely a pause for breath, Illya sucked him into his mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The hot, wet depths assaulted Solo’s few remaining controls, completely undoing him. On some level, Napoleon felt that by surrendering to the Ice King, he was betraying what this was really about. He didn’t want to just screw his partner, he wanted to make love to that tender man trapped inside. With a mental apology to that imprisoned Illya, Solo gave himself over fully to the passion of the moment. The feel of that wonderful mouth sucking on him was sheer Nirvana. It raced through his system like a drug rush._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Out of control, Solo thrust wildly up into the hot wetness that was servicing him so efficiently, burying his need deep in Illya’s throat. Illya didn’t even choke this time, as his inexperienced partner had back in San Rico. The Ice King was nothing if not a fast learner. The jaded Solo had had prostitutes who didn’t know how to use their tongue that way. Even as he shuddered under those pleasures, Napoleon hated that cold manipulator for giving him precisely what his body had been crying for these last three months._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________As if Solo’s shameful surrender weren’t enough to satisfy him, Illya’s hands slipped below Solo’s butt. Illya’s fingers froze there, their callused pads harsh against Napoleon’s sensitive flesh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________And, God help him, all Solo could do was shiver; his body was so on fire. Then those talented hands began to knead and squeeze him, shooting electric sparks along his nerves as Napoleon was forced to confront yet another inconvenient truth. In that moment, he knew that he’d give the Ice King even that, if only that heartless warden would allow _his _Illya back out to love him.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________That he would even consider capitulating to another man was a stunning discover for someone of his background. Always in the past, Napoleon Solo had seen himself as the taker, the one who called all the shots and made all the moves. Control was as natural to him as breathing. Napoleon had never wanted anyone or anything enough to alter that neat, comfortable arrangement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________But to touch his Illya, to lay him down and pleasure the imprisoned spirit the way he longed to...there wasn’t anything Solo wouldn’t give. He’d even let the Ice King screw him, if _his _Illya would peek through for just a little while.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Napoleon didn’t know if it were that shocking acknowledgment, the talented mouth performing such artful fellatio on his cock, or those powerful hands squeezing his butt with their dark promise, but his world exploded around him. Every thought was washed away on the floodtide of burning pleasure. His seed jettisoned deep into Illya’s throat as he bobbed over him, Napoleon melting inside from the undiluted ecstasy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________At that moment, the Ice King owned his soul as surely as his Illya did. And in the heated confusion of climax, Solo imagined that he felt some of the tenderness he recalled from San Rico filtering in. But that couldn’t be; this was the Ice King’s party. With a bittersweet sense of longing, Napoleon nonetheless clung to that fantasy as his reality rocked around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Finally, Napoleon was as drained and limp as a waterlogged paper straw. Only then, when he had no more to offer, did Illya raise his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Solo was almost ashamed to meet his partner’s gaze, for fear of what he’d find. Would the Ice King be arrogant in his victory, or coldly removed from such base activities? Either way, Napoleon was in no great rush to face his conqueror._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________But eventually, his curiosity got the better of him. Unable to bear the extended silence a moment longer, Solo looked down. He did not meet cruel glee or lofty indifference._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Stunned, Solo appraised his partner. Illya’s head was thrown back. For the first time since the lamp had been turned off, Napoleon could see his partner’s features. Beneath the rumpled bangs, Illya’s face was flushed. His swollen lips were parted, the slender agent sporting an expression of sated relaxation that could only mean one thing..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"You came again?" Napoleon whispered, recalling how Illya had climaxed that last time in San Rico, too, without Solo’s once touching him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Mmmmm..." Illya sleepily affirmed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Realizing that the Ice King was not quite as immune to him as he’d feared, Solo tried to process this new information._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Illya’s soul wasn’t exactly bared to him at the present moment, but his partner wasn’t hiding behind a wall of ice, either. There was a hint of approachability there that shouldn’t have existed...unless the Ice King wanted Solo as his lover, too, and just didn’t know how to reach out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Staggered by the possibility, Solo just lay there gently petting the golden fall of hair across Illya’s brow. Napoleon could sense how his partner wanted to slip back behind his emotional barriers again, but wasn’t quite able to just yet. The warm, tender feelings that lay between them were almost a tangible presence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Not wanting to test the reality of this fleeting feeling by any gesture that was too forward or demanding, Napoleon simply savored the feel of the soft hair beneath his fingertips. Illya was watching his face. Solo knew that his companion could read everything else he ached to do in his open expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Illya accepted the attention for a minute or two longer than Solo had expected. Then, Illya seemed to garner the inner strength to close himself off again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________With a reluctant sigh, Illya tore his gaze away from Solo and made to move to his own bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Before Illya could turn away and bury this encounter in the past as he had those of San Rico, Solo grabbed Illya’s wrist. "Wait..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Nearly his cool self again, Illya paused, a question in his moonlit eyes...and a tacit warning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"At least tell me why not. You want me as much as I want you," Solo stated. "I know you do."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Napoleon..." It was almost _his _Illya pleading with him.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Why won’t you let me touch you?" Napoleon practically begged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Perhaps it would make it too real," Illya suggested. He stared at where Solo gripped his wrist, but made no effort to break free just yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Aware of how easily Illya could escape that hold if he so desired, Solo cautiously raised the captured hand to his lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"What could be realer than this?" Napoleon asked, placing a gentle kiss on the lethal knuckles. "Or realer than what you just did for me?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Solo felt the quiver that coursed through the slender Russian as his lips caressed the killer hard skin and bone of his partner’s knuckles. Illya’s skin was so smooth and soft everywhere else. By kissing him here, where conflict had hardened his skin, Solo felt as if he were courting the Ice King._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Perhaps it is self-preservation, then," Illya whispered._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Hearing the ring of truth in the shaky exhalation, Napoleon inquired, "Self-preservation?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________To his astonishment, Illya moved closer to him. He actually took a seat on the bed beside him. Illya’s unbound hand reached out to stroke Solo’s cheek, his touch as gentle and cherishing as the expression softening his handsome features._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"For the sake of our partnership, I dare not give in, Napoleon. In your heart of hearts, you know this."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Solo shook himself out of the sensual web that tender touch was weaving over him. "What are you talking about?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Napoleon, you grow bored so quickly with the jewels you hold in your hand. If I were to submit to you...it would not be long before you were eyeing some other bauble. Where would our partnership be, then?" Illya’s tone was remarkably free of any hint of accusation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"You’re not some bauble," Solo protested._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Only because I refuse to be treated as such," Illya calmly pointed out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"You’re my partner. You’re not like any of the others," Napoleon reasoned, desperate to make this difficult man see what he meant to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Nor will I be." It was a warning and promise both._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"How can you be content with this...half-measure?" Solo asked, trying to understand. It wasn’t like Illya was on the receiving end of the sex they’d shared. If that had been the case, Solo would have understood his friend’s refusal to go any further. Although Napoleon hadn’t any previous sexual experience with his own gender, he’d met several seemingly straight men over the years who would go down to the Village every now and then to get some good looking hustler to blow them. He didn’t completely understand the twisted logic that motivated these men, the belief that because they weren’t actively involved in the proceedings, they weren’t engaging in homosexual sex. But Illya didn’t even have that flimsy sham to hide behind. If his intent was to deny their homosexual encounters, how could Illya do so when it was Illya himself who was giving the blow jobs?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Napoleon had often thought Illya repressed, but he’d never believed his partner to be that messed up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Nor was Illya. His partner wasn’t twisted that way, Solo was certain of it. Illya didn’t seem to be trying to deny that he’d had sex with a man. There was something else going on here, something just outside Napoleon’s grasp._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"It is this... half-measure, or nothing, Napoleon. The choice is yours." With that, Illya broke free of the hand holding his wrist, his features freezing into an icy mask._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Stung by the rejection, Solo snapped, "No, the choice is yours. You...get off on controlling me," he accused. "It’s all a sick power game to you. You get me all wild and crazy, but stay safe behind your walls, untouched by it all, but totally in charge."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Illya shrugged, not even bothering to deny the accusation. "Perhaps. But I do not believe I am the only one of whom that can be said. The fact that I can control you – and do – excites you, my friend. If you are honest with yourself, you will admit that that control excites you more than anything you’ve had in a very long time."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________The very truth of Illya’s estimation was proven by the helpless shiver that coursed through Solo’s loins. God help him, but the cold-blooded bastard was right. He did get off on Illya controlling him. But he’d be damned if he’d let Illya get complacent over that fact. Solo was already feeling vulnerable enough at this point without Illya lording it over him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"That could change," Napoleon warned. "In fact, it might be interesting to see how you feel on the other side of this game."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"Then, the game would end," Illya stated simply, as if voicing one of the elements in a mathematical equation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________"So, what you’re saying is that if I’m a good little boy and keep my hands to myself, this will happen again?" Solo couldn’t keep the asperity out of his tone. He’d never been so angry with, or hot for, another lover in his life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Lover? ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________There was an Illya buried deep beneath this prickly exterior that longed to be Solo’s lover; in his heart, Napoleon knew this to be true. But in reality, he had never even seen his partner naked in an intimate setting, let alone lain hands on him. There wasn’t even a word for what they were to each other any more._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Perhaps," Illya’s smile as he voiced the by now expected response was predatory in the extreme. The word was an open challenge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________A challenge which Solo would live to meet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Angry and aroused in equal measures, Napoleon gave a thoughtful nod, the air of under-played threat which had made him U.N.C.L.E.’s top enforcer entering his attitude. "Be warned. You are playing with fire here. This isn’t simply a game to me. You’re going to get burnt, my friend. Burnt badly."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________All traces of smugness left Illya’s suddenly sober features. "From the start, I expected nothing else," Illya grimly acknowledged. "Good night, Napoleon."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________His gaze lowering, as if to hide his heart from him, Illya returned to his bed. His normally fastidious partner didn’t even pause to strip off his sticky pajama bottoms, so intent was he in retreat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Illya?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Stony silence met his tentative whisper._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Feeling oddly guilty, Solo pulled the covers up over his naked body and stared up at the ceiling, considering what his closest friend had admitted in their final exchange. Before he could win _his _Illya, he was going to have to get through this pessimistic front. Somehow, he had to find a means to convince the Ice King that he could be trusted. Having no clue how to go about that, he lay in the dark, aching to slip over into the other bed and just hold Illya close to him for the night.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________But that was against the Ice King’s rules._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Although it was hours before the troubled Napoleon finally drifted off, the comforting, kitten-purr of a snore never emerged from his partner’s bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________******_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. The Playtime's Over Affair

The corridor was like thousands Napoleon Solo had encountered. Institution green walls, sterile off white linoleum, swinging hospital doors...it looked like any lab or clinic, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the fact that this particular lab sat alone in a barren stretch of Arizona desert seventy-three miles out of Phoenix. Beyond the windows, saguaro cacti stretched their forked arms towards the scorching sun, rattlesnakes and scorpions scurried across the parched ground, coyote and hawk hunted. Aside from this one out of place structure, there was no sign of man's presence for a good twenty-three miles, not even so much as a road, as Solo's sore butt could attest – the suspension on the rented jeep was shot to hell.

At the moment, there appeared to be as little evidence of human habitation within the THRUSH lab's walls as without. His footsteps echoed eerily through the empty corridors. Room after empty room revealed how rapid the evacuation had been. Half-filled coffee cups abandoned on desks still decorated with family portraits, expensive equipment and half finished experiments left behind, stock rooms filled to capacity...from the look of things, he'd missed the mass exodus by mere hours.

And still no sign of Illya...

Solo's hand tightened on the grip of his weapon at a sudden sound. Recognizing the familiar beeping, he relaxed and withdrew his pen communicator from his suit's inner pocket. "Open Channel D. Solo here."

"Mr. Solo," Alexander Waverly's sleepy voice emerged big as life from the tiny pen, "what is your present status?"

"Well, I've located the installation, sir. However, our THRUSH friends have moved house again. Looks like I just missed them."

"And Mr. Kuryakin?" Waverly asked the question that had been screaming through Solo's worried mind since he'd lost contact with his friend last night. "Any sign of him?"

"Not yet, sir," Napoleon uneasily replied. Illya had ventured here yesterday evening before sunset on a simple reconnaissance mission and hadn't been heard from since.

"You're certain the remains of the jeep you discovered were empty?" U.N.C.L.E.'s controller questioned.

Solo's stomach tightened as the image of that burnt out metallic shell flashed through his thoughts. It had still been smoking when Napoleon came upon it.

"Positive. There was no sign of a body. But there was evidence of a scuffle near the crash site." Solo eyed the doors to the only room he hadn't investigated yet. "My guess is that they took Illya with them. I've only got one room left to check. Maybe that will tell us something."

Napoleon was not allowing himself to consider the most obvious explanation as to what fate had befallen his partner when Illya was caught checking out this top secret installation. The idea of capture wasn't pleasant, but it beat the only other alternative.

"I'm going in now," Solo told his boss, going to great pains to keep his tone normal.

It was getting harder and harder of late for Napoleon to keep up his business-as-usual facade in situations like this. Everything had changed for him since San Rico. Before the Gurnius op, he'd always cared for Illya as a friend and done his best to safeguard his partner's life, but now...everything was different.

When Illya went missing these days, a sick sense of dread would lodge in Solo's innards. That cold fear would take a chokehold on his heart and not let up until Illya was safe and sound again. It hadn't interfered with his ability to perform his duty yet, but Napoleon knew he was too involved, too attached.

Too attached...to a man who still wouldn't allow him to return his touches. It was times like this that Napoleon realized how truly perverted their little games were. With the type of work they did, either of them could be snuffed out without a moment's notice. Then what would the survivor have left? Memories of a bare handful of one-sided encounters, hot, sexy interludes that teased and tantalized with their never realized promise of what could be between them if only...

If only Illya would let them be real lovers.

The erotic games which had begun in that San Rico hotel room were still being played by the Ice King's rules. For fear of losing what little they had, Solo was forced to take only what Illya deigned to give him: don't touch, don't push, don't talk about it...there were more 'don'ts' than 'do's' in this on-again, off-again relationship. They'd been together what – ten , eleven times now? Not once had they climaxed in each other's arms or pressed their naked, aroused bodies close together.

Solo was getting tired of it. He understood his partner's reservations, Illya's fears of being used and discarded, but...life was just too damn short to put anything this important off. Illya could very well be dead now, and he would have died without Napoleon's once having the chance to show his partner how very important he was to him.

"Mr. Solo, what is happening?" Waverly's voice called him back to the present.

"Nothing, sir. I was just...checking my ammo," Solo covered. "I'm going in now."

Napoleon paused outside the swinging doors, struck by a sudden foreboding. THRUSH wasn't going to move house and simply leave a prisoner behind. Solo knew that he was going to find either another empty room...or a dead body.

Praying for the former, he pushed through the doors...freezing as his worst nightmares were realized.

This room was another lab, only this one was walled with computers and mysterious apparatus. The only thing out of place in its sterile confines was the naked dead man hanging from manacles in the center of the room. Illya hung there limp and lifeless as a discarded rag doll. His chin rested against his chest at an awkward angle. His longish blond hair dangled in front of his face. Illya was so frighteningly still. His flesh looked unnaturally pale – corpse white...

The dead body gave a sudden start. Illya's knees straightened to support his own weight as the down bent head lifted to peer around the room. Curious blue eyes turned Solo's direction.

"What took you so long?" Illya testily demanded as Napoleon's communicator simultaneously asked, "Mr. Solo, did you find..?"

"Yes, sir." Napoleon grinned, almost sagging with relief. "The only damage appears to be to his dignity."

"Very good. Our Mexican branch reports some suspicious activity in their sector. It's suspected your THRUSH friends have moved south. We've booked transportation for you. Mr. Kuryakin and yourself will coordinate with our Mexico City branch at 3 p.m. tomorrow."

"What do you want us to do till then, sir?" Napoleon inquired, impressed as ever with their boss' cold-blooded efficiency. Thirty seconds ago Waverly hadn't even known Illya was still alive. Now, a bare half-minute later, Illya was not only an active player in the equation again, he was booked on a flight out. Only Alexander Waverly had that kind of style.

"Rest. You'll both need your strength. And see to it that Mr. Kuryakin receives whatever medical attention he needs."

"Yes, sir."

"Waverly out."

"Close Channel D," Solo broke off communication. After deactivating his pen, he replaced it in his jacket's inner lapel pocket and advanced into the lab, a smile spreading across his entire face as he basked in his partner's well being. "Please don't take this question wrong, but why aren't you dead?"

"It wasn't for want of trying, I assure you," Illya informed. "They erred as most of their ilk do, in their arrogance."

"Ey?" Solo asked.

Illya's pointy chin gestured up at where his wrists were bound above his head.

Now that he was closer, Solo could see that a suspicious black box had been attached to the chains about two feet above the manacles. "What's that?"

"The detonator of a rather insidious device. I was to be electrocuted an hour after our friends from THRUSH cleared out. The electric charge was also designed to overload the computer and burn out its memory banks." Illya explained, his droll tone belied by the smug trace of amusement coloring his features.

"You mean..." Solo paused, nonplused. Not even THRUSH would be so inefficient as to leave operating computers behind. His gaze ran over the walls of machinery, realizing that this was no penny-ante operation here.

"Precisely," Illya confirmed, as close to gleeful as the contained Russian got. "We have it all. Think of it, Napoleon – research projects, personnel files, locations of THRUSH headquarters...that trip to Mexico may not be necessary. Once we convert all this, we can simply tell head quarters where to pick up Dr. Arons."

Stunned, it took Solo a moment to digest their coup, and somewhat longer to voice the natural questions, "Why did they put the detonator up there?"

"I believe Dr. Arons is the unfortunate victim of too much American television," Illya reported, the superior air that always provoked Solo's irritation settling over him. It was absurd, really. Illya was trussed up like a carcass in a Chicago slaughterhouse, entirely helpless. Yet, he was lecturing as if he stood before a gaggle of adoring college students.

"What?" Napoleon questioned the apparent non sequitur.

"I believe that this melodramatic set up was a plot device in an episode of BATMAN that you were watching while we were in Akron last month."

Having no recollection of Batman hanging naked from the rafters, as it were, Solo denied, "I was not watching that tomfoolery."

Illya gave a passable shrug, no easy feat while hanging from one's wrists. "Have it your way. However, Dr. Arons appears to have drawn his inspiration from such sources. He placed the detonator up there so that it would be close enough for me to watch the minutes tick away without my glasses."

"How did you disable it?" Solo asked. Although the detonator might be ridiculously close to its intended victim, it was still a good two feet outside of most men's reach.

But, as Solo had learned years ago, Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin was no normal man, as Illya's nonchalant reply confirmed.

"With my feet." 

Illya apparently was not joking. 

"Your feet?" Solo parroted.

"Napoleon, no doubt you find all of this fascinating, and I do promise to appease your curiosity, but...would you mind releasing me?" Illya peevishly demanded. "This might be the desert, but I can assure you, this room is quite chilly."

Solo stared at Illya's bare feet on the no doubt freezing linoleum, studiously ignoring all of his partner's other bare assets. 

"Yes, of course." He belatedly stepped up close enough to free his friend.

Solo reached for the manacles suspended over both of their heads, trying to get an idea of how they were locked. Key? Bolt? Magnetic lock?

He was feeling along the cold metal's seam when Illya appeared to temporarily lose his balance and stumble against him.

Small wonder. This was hardly the most comfortable of positions to have spent the night in, Solo acknowledged. The fact that Illya's wrists weren't mangled was a testament to his partner's patience.

"Ummpf... sorry, Napoleon."

It was only as he felt Illya's hard, sinewy form bump against every inch of his front that Napoleon became physically aware of their positions. Illya, stark naked, bound by these very efficient chains...entirely at his mercy.

The world seemed to come to an abrupt stop, remained frozen for an indeterminate time before making a turn on its axis and spinning off in a completely new direction.

Solo halted, realizing in that instant that all the rules had changed. A whole new ball game had just begun.

"Napoleon?" Illya questioned, obviously puzzled by the delay and Solo's lack of motion, "Are you all right?"

"Mmmm...yes." Solo took a step back, needing some breathing and thinking room. This game was going to be far more difficult. Every instinct Napoleon owned was telling him that Illya would be an unwilling player.

"Couldn't you open the lock?" Illya asked, straining his neck back to stare up at the manacles.

"Yes, I suppose I could, if that was what I wanted. The question is – is that what I really want?"

"Napoleon, what are you...?" The exasperated question cut off, Illya tensing in sudden understanding. As if composing himself, Illya continued to gaze up at his wrists for a minute. When at last he deigned to look at Napoleon, his stare was pure blue ice, an arctic blast that would wither even the hottest of suitors.

Solo had passed hot almost eleven months ago. Like the heart of a gas giant, the fire in his blood wouldn't be quelled until the passion blasted itself to pieces.

"We are in a public place," Illya icily reminded.

Solo gave an outright snort at the preposterous argument. "We're twenty-three miles from the nearest paved road. If that's the best you can do, my friend..." he shrugged.

"I do not consent to this. Release me immediately," Illya snapped, at his most imperious.

"Or?" Solo purred, beginning to really enjoy himself.

"What?" Illya looked bewildered.

"That's what I'm asking you. Release you or...? You're at a marked disadvantage here, my controlling young friend." An odd, erotic thrill coursed through Solo as he saw the Adam's apple in Illya's long, elegant throat bob.

"Please, Napoleon, this is not funny."

"No," Solo interrupted, "it's not. The strait you've driven me to is downright pathetic. Do you realize if they'd killed you, you would have died without my once ever having touched you...loved you?"

"This is not about love," Illya denied.

"No," Solo sadly agreed, "it's not about love because you've never allowed our roles to be equal enough to claim that title. Your control games have been sexy as hell, but up until now they've been terribly one sided. I think that it's about time that you found out what it feels like to be on the receiving end of one of your little games."

"This is no game," Illya argued, each syllable as sharp and cutting as a whiplash. "And it most certainly is not love. What you are contemplating is...rape."

"Rape?" Solo nearly laughed at the absurd accusation. Even now he could see Illya's shaft hardening and filling with blood. "How is this any different than what you've done to me all these months, _tovarisch _?"__

__He reached out to stroke Illya's pale cheek._ _

__Illya jerked his head back to avoid the touch._ _

__"It is different in that you always had the option of refusing my advances."_ _

__"Refusing you? After you'd gotten me so hot that I'd screw a rock? You knew exactly when to time your games, knew when I was the most vulnerable," Solo accused, his pride still smarting from all those times he hadn't had the strength to turn away, when he'd taken Illya on his perverse terms, despite his resolve to insist on a more equal relationship._ _

__"I never tied you up and forced you!" Illya protested._ _

__"I didn't tie you up. I merely found you that way...and pressed my advantage," Solo insisted._ _

__Illya glanced away and bit his lip. "You would...take me against my will?"_ _

__The genuine, tremulous note, so underplayed as to be almost undetectable, stabbed at Solo's conscience. What was he doing? You didn't play these kinds of games with your partner, not if you wanted to keep breathing._ _

__Yet, the resentment engendered by almost twelve months of Illya's power plays wouldn't allow him to walk away from this opportunity. He'd wanted Illya so badly this past year that he could taste the desire. Even now the subtle musk and dried sweat of his captive partner's body sent his senses spinning like some exotic aphrodisiac._ _

__"No," Napoleon slowly promised, "I won't take you against your will."_ _

__"Then you'll release me?" Illya asked with a heart wrenching blend of hope and suspicion._ _

__"No," Solo shook his head. "I won't release you yet, but...I won't take you against your will."_ _

__With that, Solo trailed his fingertips down the center of the shockingly underdeveloped chest._ _

__"Don't!" Illya commanded._ _

__Solo ignored the caution, his other hand reaching for the shimmering fall of blond hair. The beauty of that rumpled cascade was uncanny. The lights overhead were simple fluorescent, the same as in U.N.C.L.E. labs. Illya's hair shouldn't shine the way it did, like molten gold bubbling in some fairy cauldron._ _

__Illya once again tried to jerk his head away to avoid the touch, but he could move only so far, bound as he was._ _

__Napoleon's fingers dug deep into the silken cascade, carding through its soft length._ _

__Illya's head turned away, hiding his face behind his right biceps, as if unable to bear whatever was in Solo's eyes. Napoleon's fingers slipped from hair to neck before softly petting the unfamiliar, stiff blond curls at his partner's left arm pit._ _

__Illya loosed a choked off gasp, his breath quickening._ _

__Solo's other hand fingered Illya's right nipple, feeling it turn to stone at his very first touch. An instant later, Napoleon's head lowered to sample its flavor._ _

__Illya strangled a cry as Solo tongued the hard pink bud. "Napoleon...I beg you...stop, please..."_ _

__"That isn't what I want you to beg me for." Solo silkily murmured against the satin smooth chest, feeling the shivers even the touch of his breath engendered._ _

__Illya jerked almost frantically, his right knee making a calculated thrust for Napoleon's genitals._ _

__Having expected this move the moment he'd laid hands on his friend, Solo calmly intercepted the knee and jerked it up, simultaneously sweeping Illya's supporting leg out from under him._ _

__"Ummphf..." Illya cried out in discomfort as his manacled wrists brought him up short in his fall._ _

__To ease his partner's distress while driving home their very separate positions, Napoleon caught the other leg and lifted. Insinuating himself between Illya's widespread thighs, Solo's hips now supported the bulk of his partner's weight._ _

__"Please don't try that again." Napoleon calmly requested, bending forward to nuzzle that porcelain throat. Pleased, he felt those athletic thighs clamp around him as his partner unconsciously accepted his support._ _

__Illya's conscious mind, however, was still resisting him tooth and nail, figuratively, if not quite literally yet._ _

__"Or?" Kuryakin breathily challenged, something in his eyes seeming to ask if Solo were willing to back his request with a physical threat._ _

__Napoleon's teeth took hold of a nearby earlobe, infinitesimally increasing the pressure. Illya's resulting, sharp hiss was mostly one of pleasure. Solo made sure that he never came close to hurting. "Just don't. Please."_ _

__His hands groped up the back of Illya's athletic thighs, looking for a more comfortable position of support. Eventually, he ended up cupping the pear shaped cheeks of the small ass. His first experimental squeeze earned him a legitimate whimper._ _

__"Napoleon..." It was meant as a protest, Solo knew, but the name came out more as a sigh._ _

__Sensing that the danger of being seriously bitten was past, Napoleon did what he'd longed to from his first touch and took his partner's mouth, kissing long and deep._ _

__At first his captive partner didn't respond to him, but Illya seemed incapable of resisting the open tenderness of his lips. It wasn't fair, Napoleon thought as he delved into the somewhat dry depths once Illya's initial resistance to the kiss melted away. Illya had been hanging here over night. His mouth should have tasted like a pair of old gym socks. But aside from the dryness, he still tasted fantastic to him._ _

__Solo's entire universe rocked as he felt his friend thirstily suck some of the saliva from his mouth. In its own way, that faintly kinky act struck him as being far more intimate than when Illya had sucked him off all those times._ _

__His fingers dug deep into the soft mounds they supported, squeezing. Solo caught the resulting groan in his mouth._ _

__Illya gasped almost as if in shock as they parted. The wariness had finally left Illya's eyes. Their blue was no longer arctic ice. Rather, his gaze now glittered with a hot, unfocused quality which Solo had only seen in the past when Illya was about to suck him off. The slender rib cage was now panting for every breath, Illya watching him in anxious expectation._ _

__"That's better," Napoleon approved._ _

__Illya winced and squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip as if unable to avoid some horrible ordeal. But the effect was spoiled as Napoleon's groping hand charted the bumpy ridge of spine. Those full pink lips parted in a silent 'ooohh' of sensual appreciation._ _

__Somewhat restricted by their awkward position, Solo gently unclamped Illya's thighs from around his waist and carefully set Illya back on his feet. Before Illya could draw any clarity from the move, Napoleon's lips fastened on one of the pink nipples, sucking eagerly._ _

__Illya was openly moaning as his fully clothed partner kissed, sucked and nuzzled down the smooth chest and solar plexus to the tender whiteness of the lower belly._ _

__Tonguing the shallow naval, Solo smiled against Illya's trim tummy as his partner's cock impatiently nudged at his cleft chin._ _

__Wanting to get a good look at his friend, Solo cut off his ministrations and sank back onto his knees, giving a back sore from too much bending a desperately needed rest. Trying to be objective, he took a good, long look at his partner's sex._ _

__Napoleon wasn't accustomed to thinking of another man's genitals in aesthetic terms. Even now, after almost a full year of wanting, it still felt terribly strange to actually be touching Illya intimately, but it was a strangeness to which Solo knew he'd grow addicted._ _

__Illya was very well endowed for his stature. His balls were full and heavy, the soft pliable sacs the most luscious shade of pink. The wiry blond pubic hair was almost an artistic contrast to his testicles. While his cock..._ _

__Solo gulped as he scanned the hungry flesh. Illya's shaft was an impressive length, bold and demanding as Illya himself. His partner was oddly pale there, six, perhaps seven inches of pinkish-white manhood. It was only at the uncircumcised tip that the penis' color deepened to a healthy, sanguine, cherry red. Staring at the crown, which was flaring in its need, Napoleon was struck by both the sheer power of the organ and its absurd vulnerability._ _

__"Napoleon...please..." Illya rasped, his slender hips thrusting at his spellbound partner._ _

__Realizing how painful the delay must be, and secretly pleased to hear his friend actually ask him to continue, Solo took mercy on his partner._ _

__"Yes, of course...forgive me. You're just so...damn beautiful..." Solo murmured._ _

__He reached out both hands, his fingertips gently trailing down the inside of those golden-fuzzed thighs._ _

__Illya emitted a strangled cry, hips bucking up at Solo, "Please... _Napasha _...please..."___ _

____" _Napasha _, huh?" Solo sampled the name, keeping up the stroking, wanting to drive the other man completely wild. "Is that how you think of me? It's a form of endearment, isn't it?"___ _ _ _

______Illya's eyes squeezed shut again, almost in dread. He gave a sharp, affirmative nod, his features torn with passion._ _ _ _ _ _

______"A love name, is it?" Napoleon questioned, part of him still trying to figure out just what Illya truly wanted from him behind all the screens of denial and power games._ _ _ _ _ _

______"If you like..." Illya grated out from behind clenched teeth._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Oh, I like, never doubt that, my friend," Solo smoothly assured, deciding to up the ante. "In fact, Illya...I more than like."_ _ _ _ _ _

______The gasp Illya gave came before Napoleon's lips replaced his trailing fingers on the hairy inner thigh._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon nuzzled up and down the inside of both thighs, ignoring the cock that kept butting demandingly against his brow or cheek whenever his face came within range. The tiny, mewling noises his normally stoic partner couldn't hold in were worth the delay. But eventually, the extended foreplay became too much for even Solo to bear._ _ _ _ _ _

______The scent of Illya's musk was stronger down here, growing with Illya's arousal. The utter masculinity of the smell should have put him off, but Napoleon found the heady aroma incredibly exciting. It played through his senses as strongly as the intoxicating feel of that velvet skin beneath his hands._ _ _ _ _ _

______Time seemed to stop as Solo at last lifted his head, his gaze focusing on the desperate, ignored cock._ _ _ _ _ _

______Illya's breath seemed to catch in his chest. Napoleon heard the sudden intake of air, then no other sound. Only the pounding of his own heart followed and the heat of Illya's gaze digging into his face._ _ _ _ _ _

______Gathering the straining shaft into his palm for the very first time should have felt awkward, but to Napoleon it was like a homecoming. Illya fit his hand so comfortably, so perfectly, as if their bodies had been designed for each other._ _ _ _ _ _

______Illya's gasp as he finally released the in-held breath ruffled Solo's hair._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon cautiously investigated his new prize, his explorations eliciting a pleasing variety of vocalizations from above. Since most of what Illya was saying appeared to be in Russian, he had no idea of its translation, but the guttural tone carried the meaning quite effectively._ _ _ _ _ _

______Recognizing an especially graphic curse word, Solo smiled sweetly up at his friend, "I love you, too, Illya."_ _ _ _ _ _

______It was as if Solo had thrown some kind of a switch, so immediate was the reaction._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Don't!" Illya commanded, his body freezing up._ _ _ _ _ _

______Having thought his partner beyond English, if not coherency, Solo curiously asked, "Don't what, Illya?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Don't...tell me lies. Just get on with it."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"You think I'm lying to you?" Solo demanded, stung by the accusation_ _ _ _ _ _

______Illya looked away, refusing to meet his gaze._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Illya..?" He nearly pleaded for a response._ _ _ _ _ _

______After an endless time, his partner looked down at him, Illya's expression completely unreadable._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It doesn't matter. Just...get on with it." Illya sounded like he was undergoing the most odious ordeal known to man._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Don't, please..." Napoleon couldn't believe how much the rejection hurt. He'd thought that he was finally getting through, that Illya had moved beyond his reservations enough to enjoy his touch._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I asked you that before and you ignored my pleas. This is your game. Finish what you've started, Napoleon Solo," Illya commanded._ _ _ _ _ _

______Solo flinched at the cold, angry tone of the words, unable to believe this was happening. A minute ago, they'd both been enjoying this and then, whammo, Kuryakin the Ice King was back in all his frigid splendor._ _ _ _ _ _

______Something very fragile inside Solo, the deep buried place where he hid the last vestiges of his romantic illusions, shattered under the Ice King's merciless freeze. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning after an older brother maliciously revealed that Santa Claus was just a myth. All the magic was suddenly dead. He wasn't making love to Illya. With sudden clarity, Solo realized that he was just forcing his attentions upon someone who'd rather be off playing with a microscope or computer._ _ _ _ _ _

______Damn, the cold blooded bastard, Solo cursed, almost hating Illya at that moment._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon gazed down at the pulsing cock he still held cradled in his palms...hating the weakness in his heart that still made him want to caress and cherish the hungry flesh. After that deliberate cruelty, Illya deserved..._ _ _ _ _ _

______With great effort, Napoleon mastered the rage that made him want to beat the tar out of this unfeeling imitation of a human being._ _ _ _ _ _

______The very first thing Napoleon had learned about Illya Kuryakin when they were initially partnered was that the scientific Russian had a reason for everything he did. Illya didn't react out of anger or hurt without reason. Unlike many agents with whom Solo had been partnered over the years, there were no acts of senseless violence with Illya. Even when an angry or hurtful response was justified, the quiet Russian was usually refrained, using only the minimum of force necessary to subdue. And no matter how angry they might have been at each other over the years, Illya had never deliberately hurt him as he had today._ _ _ _ _ _

______His anger fading to puzzled hurt, Solo sought understanding._ _ _ _ _ _

______As difficult as Illya often was, the man wasn't crazy. At the moment, his partner was completely at his mercy, utterly vulnerable. Napoleon could do absolutely anything to him, and Illya would be powerless to stop him. Why would Illya purposefully antagonize him at such a defenseless moment? Surely, he must realize how angry the cold dismissal of his feelings had made him..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Of course, Illya knew how angry he was. Napoleon abruptly recognized that that had been the point. The little bastard was still manipulating him. Even trussed up like a pig for slaughter, Illya was still calling the shots._ _ _ _ _ _

______But why make him angry? It didn't make any sense at all... until Solo recalled what he'd said to his partner right before the Ice King's emergence._ _ _ _ _ _

______He'd told Illya that he loved him, at a time when Illya was most vulnerable to belief._ _ _ _ _ _

______Could that be it, Napoleon wondered, staring up at the close guarded, handsome face. Was Illya so terrified of allowing himself to...need him that he'd risk the dire consequences of his ire simply to hide his feelings?_ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon wanted to deny the suggestion, but Illya was watching him as if he expected him to twist his cock off in physical retaliation for the emotional hurt he'd knowingly inflicted._ _ _ _ _ _

______Christ._ _ _ _ _ _

______Solo thought fast, having no clue as to how he should proceed. He was so disgusted with the twisted tactic that he just wanted to get up and walk away. Leave the Ice King hanging here with his balls tangled in knots for a few hours..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Only, that was a cruelty beyond him. Even on the most frustrating nights of sexual teasing, Illya had never walked away from him or denied him release. Illya might have called all the shots and forbidden him to share the softer moments his soul ached for the most, but Illya had never failed to bring him off._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon supposed he could use Illya's own methods. A quick hand job, then back to business. Illya was on the point of popping right now. It wouldn't take much more in the way of stimulation, only..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Napoleon didn't want to perpetuate this sick game. He wanted it finished, once and for all. He wanted Illya for his lover, wanted to have the right to touch him every night, wanted to feel climax take them both while tangled tight in a naked embrace..._ _ _ _ _ _

______Abruptly, Napoleon knew what he was going to do._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Napoleon?" Illya worriedly questioned as Solo completely released his flesh and rose to his feet. "What are you...don't leave me... _Napasha _, no..." Illya practically begged as Napoleon stepped away from him, abandonment obviously not something the Ice King had anticipated.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Pleased by the desperate reaction, Solo moved behind his partner, outside of Illya's line of vision._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There was a counter over there where he could leave his clothes..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Napoleon? What are you doing? Come back...please?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Solo stripped down, leaving his clothing neatly piled beside some Petri dishes someone had been in the process of preparing before flight. Only five of the two dozen had any clear gel at the bottom. None of them looked like they'd had any specimens added, so fast was the evacuation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Depositing his last sock on the clothes pile, Solo turned towards his friend._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Illya was craning his neck around, trying to see behind him. "Napoleon, are you still here? That back door leads only to a supply cabinet. If you want to leave, you'll have to..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I've no intention of leaving...or abandoning you on the edge like this," Solo whispered from less than a foot behind his friend._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"What is this then – revenge? Will you make me beg...?" Illya was no longer straining to see him. As if aware of how much he'd already given away with his anxious response to Solo's apparent abandonment, Illya was staring firmly ahead. But at Solo's sensual whisper, Illya's spine straightened, his buttocks tensing until a pucker had formed in each of the snowy globes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hypnotized by the sight of the gently rounded butt, Solo gave a mute shake of his head, belatedly realizing that his partner couldn't see him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No," he muttered, recalling something Illya had said to him during that very first massage in that San Rico hotel room almost a year ago, "I just remembered that you had a whole other side."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Solo trailed his index finger slowly down the tensed spine, grinning at the pleased hiss. Illya's brain might not want this, but his body sure as hell did. It was going to work._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Determining to ignore everything his partner might say to discourage him, Solo silently stepped closer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He could feel the heat pouring off his partner's body, could almost feel Illya's state of enhanced tension as he sensed his nearness. Solo's cock twitched with excitement, growing larger._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Napoleon?" Illya called in a subdued tone, shifting nervously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________So close now that he could smell the faded sweetness of his partner's shampoo, Napoleon leaned forward to breathe into a gold fringed ear. "I like it better when you call me _'Napasha' _."___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Napoleon, what..?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Illya gasped as Solo's lips fastened on his throat and then, released a strangled moan as the tip of Napoleon's circumcised cock nudged at his buttocks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Mmmm?" Solo murmured. Taking hold of his own shaft, he guided the head back and forth across the cool, living velvet of his partner's ass. The delight even that small act brought him jumped along his nerve endings like wildfire, melting through him until his joy was seeping out the slit in his cock in the form of big clear droplets of preseminal fluid._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"What are you doing?" Illya demanded, sounding what Solo would call panicked were this any other man._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"I think that should be obvious even to you," Solo purred, outlining the curve of one sleek globe, his cock head trailing the gentle slope up the cleft, brushing over places he'd only imagined touching in his darkest dreams._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Illya hissed at the contact and tried to jerk away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Solo slipped his right hand around Illya's front, collected the turgid flesh and gave a calculated squeeze. As planned, Illya's hips bucked back at him, the move bumping Solo's shaft hard into the cleft._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The angle was off. Solo was a bit too tall for the full effect, but feeling those hot cheeks surround his throbbing cock put ideas in his head that he never would have allowed himself to consciously consider in cold, sane blood._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________And it had been some time since he'd been able to claim either. Illya had driven him so far beyond his normal limits. This need was beyond caution, beyond reason. Illya burned in his blood like an addiction. At this point, Napoleon would risk almost anything to sate it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He pressed even more of his weight against his partner. Leaning down, he nuzzled the milky throat, making sure the steamy fall of his breath caused the same shivers in his partner to which Napoleon himself was so susceptible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Tell me, my cool Russian beauty, has anyone ever touched you here before?" Solo rocked his hips, sliding his weeping cockhead over the tight guarded ring of muscle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ahhh..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Is that a yes?" Napoleon purred, purposefully misinterpreting._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"No...no, of course, no one ever...Napoleon...stop this madness now..." There was only an edge of fear in the tone. Illya's voice was so gruff with arousal that it was barely recognizable._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Napoleon wasn't sure how far he intended to carry this bluff, but right now he was having too much fun to stop. "Good. It excites me that no one's touched you here before, that I'm the first...my sweet, golden virgin."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Napoleon hadn't been sure how Illya would respond to words, but the quiver that coursed through the tensed form told him that he was on the right track. Illya might mock his technique, but his partner was as susceptible to those gilded words as the scores of women who'd fallen under the spell of his golden tongue._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Napoleon..." Illya openly begged, the cock Solo was working expanding to truly impressive proportions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________" _`NAPASHA' _. Say it. _`Napasha' _," Solo commanded, bending slightly at the knees and then straightening up for the desired effect. The spongy head of his penis made solid contact with the dry ring of Illya's anus. "Say it," he ordered over Illya's helpless moan._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________" _Na Napasha _..." Illya gasped out.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Good, very good." Solo moved his cock back from it threatening position. Up front, he released Illya's shaft, his hands rubbing up the flat stomach and chest to capture both of Illya's nipples. He gave a simultaneous, sharp squeeze to each._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Illya bucked wildly back at him, releasing a shout._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Do you like that, _Illyusha _?" He nibbled the sensitive spot behind Illya's ear, not sure if the resulting shudders were a result of his action or the use of the diminutive form of his partner's name.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"You...know that I do," Illya grated out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Do you like this?" Solo rocked his hips again, grinding into the beautiful ass._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Ahhhh...."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Solo pressed his shaft harder into the cleft. "Answer me. Do you like it?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Solo didn't really expect a response. He'd seen Illya take torture for upwards of two hours. Illya would usually faint from the pain before breaking. However, this time the response came immediately, a desolate, "yesss..." that seemed to be ripped from the very depths of his partner's soul._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Good." Taking mercy on his friend, Napoleon let up a little. If he didn't, this was going to turn out to be a hell of a lot more than simple bluff. As it was, he was walking the thin line of control._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Stepping back a bit, he kissed around Illya's neck, nuzzling his way down the bony spine. As he sank to his knees, Solo's hands came to rest on the soft mounds._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Illya's ass was so perfect, so incredibly touchable, Napoleon reflected as he stroked the peachy smoothness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Illya cried out as Napoleon squeezed his butt cheeks together, mumbling, "Napasha" over and over again as Solo bent to kiss and nuzzle the velvet mounds. He playfully nibbled the tender flesh, causing excited cries from above._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Please... _Napasha _...please... _pojaloosta _..." Illya fell into his native tongue as his head tossed restlessly back and forth, a victim of his desire._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Please what?" Solo rasped, ready to explode himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Anything...anything you want...just, touch me...please?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________The surrender was more than Napoleon could have hoped for. To hear his partner openly beg for his touch..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Napoleon gloried in the victory a moment before acquiescing, "And where would you like me to touch you – here?" His right hand groped around the front to give Illya's throbbing shaft a tentative squeeze, pulling back as it jerked in response. "Or perhaps here?" he suggested, his fingers slipping between the smooth cheeks to brush over Illya's hidden rectum._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Illya's gasp was one of pure, carnal shock._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Emboldened, Napoleon's middle finger rimmed the tight circle, feeling it twitch almost nervously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Illya's body froze, every ounce of his concentration seeming to be focused on what Solo's finger was doing in that forbidden territory._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"More," Illya gruffly commanded when Napoleon hesitated at actual penetration._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________A little teasing was one thing, Napoleon thought, overcome by a sudden nervousness. This was getting a touch too heavy for him. "You can't want me to..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"More," Illya repeated in a tone that would brook no argument._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Knowing better than to just plunge in dry, Solo withdrew his hand, bringing it to his mouth to wet his fingertips. Saliva wasn't much of a lubricant, but it would have to do for now. His nose fastidiously wrinkled as the telltale scent on his skin told him precisely where those fingertips had been._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Jolted into sanity, Napoleon experienced a moment's panic._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________What the hell was he doing? This was going too far..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Napoleon?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Solo was nearly afraid to continue. In all the controlling, sexy games Illya had played with him over the past eleven months, there had never been any penetration. His partner never touched any further back than his balls. If Napoleon did this, he knew he'd be moving things to a different level. However, no amount of worry could compete with the fire burning in his loins. Faced with that ravaging lust, there was really no choice...or any turning back. For better or worse, he was committed to this course, and determined to go the distance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Solo's fingers returned to the cleft. Blindly finding his objective, he circled the tight ring, pushing through its center before the saliva could dry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Illya closed almost painfully around him, crying out in shocked surprise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Solo waited for the initial reaction to let up, then pressed relentlessly forward, piercing that tight tunnel for the very first time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________It wasn't at all like he'd thought it would be. If Solo had considered this act at all in the past, it had always been with great repugnance. Putting his fingers up someone's rectum just wasn't something the slightly prudish Solo could get too excited about. The reality of the experience, like most realities, was drastically different from his expectations. Nothing could have prepared him for the dark eroticism of the act._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Resting his cheek against the incredible smoothness of his partner's butt, Solo closed his eyes, concentrating every iota of his being upon the feel of that tight channel gripping every inch of his finger._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Napoleon's always active imagination couldn't help but extrapolate on how the virgin tight tunnel would feel around his cock._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________His penetrating fingertip, now deep inside his friend, encountered something that felt slightly different than the slick wall of the channel. This was rounder, sort of protrusive. Pressing experimentally against it brought a cry of the sheerest delight from up above._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Like that?" Solo smiled against the velvet fuzzed butt, figuring out what he must have hit. Illya's extraordinarily favorable reaction made Napoleon regret all the times he'd refused this caress when he'd been with women bold enough and worldly enough to offer it. The sensation must be something out of this world, Solo decided. Illya was panting like a bellows, the ecstasy rapturing his face making him look like he'd died and gone to heaven. All with one single, indelicate touch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"More?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Solo probed again, achieving a similar response...and still Illya begged for more._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Use two fingers," Illya suggested at last._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Napoleon uneasily considered the request. His saliva had long since evaporated. In his opinion, that single finger was pushing the limit so far as penetration without a lubricant went. Illya was already going to be sore as hell from the abrasion. Two fingers, even with saliva, might do damage. "You're too dry. I...don't want to hurt you." He swallowed, ashamed by just how eager he was to continue, lubricant be damned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Just do it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Not without..." Solo began to refuse, then inspiration struck. "Hold on a minute."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Illya gasped as Napoleon removed his finger from inside him. " _Napasha _...what..?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Shaking with need, Solo moved to the counter where he'd left his clothes, dubiously eyeing the source of his inspiration. The Petri dishes were filled with a clear gelatin substance that would have just a little bit of sugar mixed in. He checked carefully to guarantee that the gel hadn't been prepared with any bacterium. It wasn't the most elegant of lubricants, but the strung out Solo grudgingly decided that it would do._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________He brought three of the five gel-filled dishes back with him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Kneeling behind his partner on the cold linoleum, Solo dug his fingers into the first dish's gel and brought the clear burden to Illya's hidden orifice._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"What's that?" Illya demanded as the cool, gooey substance touched his sore entrance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Gel from a Petri dish." Solo proudly informed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"A Petri dish? Rumors of your inventive streak have not been exaggerated." Illya shook with laughter, the reaction cutting off abruptly as both of Solo's fingers penetrated the tight entrance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Illya's flesh seemed to suck him in. Panting in curtailed need, Solo worked his fingers up inside, pleasuring that secret ecstasy button, scissoring his fingers back and forth to accustom his tight friend to his presence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Well?" Illya interrupted at last, his tone strangely accusative._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Huh?" The dazed Solo blinked up at the ravaged face glowering down at him. Illya was going to have a hell of a crick in his neck from twisting his head around like that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"This is torture. How long will you make me wait? Or will you demand that I beg for that, as well?" Illya's gaze shied away. Then, as if forcing himself to continue, he freely admitted, "I will beg, if that's what you require of me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Wondering if he'd stopped understanding his own native language, Solo's passion-dazed mind struggled to understand. "Beg? What are you talking about?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"The game is yours, Napoleon Solo. Finish what you've begun." Then, as the hardness fled from his features, the Illya that Napoleon had glimpsed only in the floating daze of aftermath emerged, "Please, Napasha. I am only flesh and blood. Your touch is pleasing, but it has long since turned to pain. Claim what you have made your own."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Claim?" Solo stupidly echoed, "What the devil..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"It's what you have desired from the start. Do it. Now." Illya grunted as the shocked Solo removed his fingers from deep inside him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________"Illya, I..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He what? _Solo wondered. _Didn't want this? ______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Since that first time in San Rico, this ultimate possession had been Solo's darkest fantasy. But, in light of both their commanding natures, Napoleon had never dreamed that this particular desire would ever be realized...not when Illya left him starving for even so little as a hug._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Although this had not been his original intention, Napoleon was unable to turn away from the offer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________With grim determination, he slathered some of that sticky, clear gel over his own pulsing penis and stood back up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________The logistics of the act momentarily daunted him. With his hands bound above his head like that, Illya couldn't bend over. His partner was too tall for Solo to squat down to take him, and, by the same token, Illya was too short for Solo to accomplish the act while standing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________For a second or two, the frustrated Solo was stumped, then, recalling their earlier play, Napoleon knew what he must do._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________When he'd lifted Illya up before when Napoleon himself had still been dressed, Illya's butt had rested right against his groin. Though the position wouldn't be the most comfortable in the world, it would work. That was all that mattered to him at the moment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya's eyes widened in puzzlement as Solo moved around to the front. "Napoleon?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Faced with that endearing bewilderment, Napoleon finally did what he'd been longing to for a year now. He wrapped his arms around Illya's neck, pressed their naked fronts tight together and deeply kissed his gasping partner. The feel of all that bare, hot flesh against his own, the forceful press of Illya's demanding cock against his own erection...it was absolute heaven._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon fed at the perfect mouth until it seemed that they'd come simply from the steamy kiss. When the demands of the flesh became too strong to ignore, his hands slid down Illya's muscular back, over the athletic thighs. Achieving a stable grip, he lifted his companion up, parting the thighs and immediately insinuating himself between them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________The chain links overhead jingled wildly at the sudden action. Illya grunted in pained surprise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Can you manage?" Napoleon hoarsely asked, not knowing what he'd do should he receive a negative response._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya nodded, gripping the chain overhead in both hands to hold himself up higher and take the pressure off his wrists._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Good." Although he longed to kiss Illya again, Napoleon couldn't reach his mouth in their present position. Illya's head was up too high._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon contented himself with laying a trail of nuzzling kisses from one pink bud of nipple to the other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Ready?" Solo questioned, his hands sliding up to separate the cheeks of Illya's butt while they both struggled to balance and work around Illya's knobby knees that seemed to be in the way of everything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Finally, Napoleon settled the problem by guiding the long legs around his waist, so that the powerful thighs gripped him like a steel belt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________A single nod, and Solo moved in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________His cock seemed to know the way by instinct. It bumped up against that sticky, muscular aperture at the very first thrust._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Thinking that he'd been born and lived his entire life only to reach this perfect moment in time, Napoleon carefully pierced the virgin tight portal. The resistance slowed, but didn't stop him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya's initial scream rang through the empty lab, shocking in its volume. The stoic Russian had suffered extremes of torture without a whimper. To hear him scream aloud like that... the pain would have to be incredible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Do you want me to stop?" Napoleon grated out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"No...just...go slow, please..." Illya grunted, his gaze bright with pain._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Nodding, Napoleon froze, doing his best to keep his balance while remaining completely still in the strained position. If he lost his grip on Illya, his partner would be unable to support his own weight at the difficult angle. The resulting impalement would be immediate and agonizing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________When he felt the clamping ring of anus loosen its terrified grip a little, he eased gradually in. The reality of Illya around him was more exquisite than any late night fantasy Solo had dreamed up over the lonely months of longing for the impossible. The heat was searing, the grip of that virgin flesh so tight as to be almost painful._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________That it was nothing but painful to his friend was obvious from the beads of sweat that had dewed the pale flesh and Illya's deep, bellows-like struggle for air. It hurt Napoleon to think that his pleasure was bought with his lover's agony._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Not wanting to continue hurting, and tired of fighting for every damn millimeter he achieved, Solo's right hand fumbled for Illya's erection. Somehow, he kept their balance with only his waist and one arm supporting Illya's ever increasing weight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Some steady pumping reduced the vise-like grip to a constricting squeeze that was as close to perfect as intercourse could get. Inch by slow, careful inch, Napoleon sank into his partner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________The gradual penetration was like none he'd experienced. It was more than simple sex. As he pushed inch after inch of his engorged cock into that frighteningly tiny aperture, Solo felt as if he were branding his partner's flesh and soul as his own private property. Napoleon understood that the Ice King wanted no truck with either sentimentality or intimacy, that that part of his partner would fight him on this all the way. But at this moment of utter soul baring and painful intimacy, not even the defiant Ice King would dare refute his claim on Illya's heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya's body was drenched with perspiration, his head thrashing from side to side as he rode the sensations out, his eyes clenched shut, his expression torn and ravaged as he helped hold his weight up by those chains and assisted in his own conquest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Hanging there from those manacles, Illya's surrender was complete...not even a vestige of pretense remained for Illya to hide behind, not while he dangled there, the willing recipient of Napoleon's raging passions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Solo was careful not to injure in that first, unending entry. Still, slow as he went, he didn't stop until his pelvis was pressed tight to the curves of Illya's snowy buttocks, his wine red cock buried in the deepest recesses of Illya's body._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________In the moment of frozen stillness when Solo stilled to savor this incredible man, Illya's eyes snapped open to stare down into his face. There was nothing hidden – the fear, the discomfort, the heart-wrenching vulnerability...the love, it was all there for Solo to read in this, the final surrender._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________At that instant, Napoleon would have traded his life and soul for a single kiss, but Illya's mouth was still far out of reach._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Ready?" Solo checked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya took a deep breath, slowly expelled it, then nodded. And so it began._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Solo pulled out, pushing back in with force measured by the degree of resistance he encountered. When Illya tensed up, he slowed down, but when his partner loosened up, he slid boldly in. This time he hit that secret pleasure button that he'd somehow failed to stimulate in his initial penetration._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya gave a pleased gasp, his slender hips bucking as best they could in the awkward, doubled over position._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Again and again, Solo slammed in and out of his partner, his body doing its best to fuse their flesh together and make them one organism. For a long, steamy interval, the only sounds were their animal grunts and the slap of flesh against bare flesh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Finally, Illya's body gave a last spasmodic jerk, freezing immediately thereafter as orgasm claimed him. Illya's hot, creamy seed spurted out over Napoleon's chest and face in a warm, shocking shower._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon had never felt anything like it. As strange as it was to have another man come all over him, he still found the voluminous explosion intensely erotic...for, who could ask for more concrete proof of how thoroughly a lover was enjoying sex than this organic fountain spurting its sticky white gift all over him?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________As if that were the signal for which he was waiting, Napoleon tumbled into climax. His consciousness blinked in and out as he shot his seed deep into Illya's tight body. The pleasure was unreal, exploding through his every sense as bright and spectacular as a magnesium flash. The singing delight left him blind and reeling, as helpless a captive to this ecstasy as Illya was to the chains binding him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon's legs gave way, leaving him supported only by his grip on Illya's twisted-over back and Illya's knees squeezing the outside of his chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________An eternity passed before anything resembling coherence dared interrupt the ecstasy rippling through his contented system. Napoleon truly felt that if he didn't make a conscious effort to remain moored to his own body, his consciousness would simply follow his semen into his friend. Although the idea did not displease him, it frightened him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Sex wasn't supposed to be like this. The fun and the physical joy, Solo expected, no...demanded from any encounter. But the extremes of emotion which his reserved partner aroused in him were something completely outside of Napoleon's experience. Never in his life had he been into bondage, or thought himself capable of the wild reckless sex they'd just indulged in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________But somehow, where Illya was involved, none of the old rules seemed to apply anymore. The quiet Russian drove him to extremes he never would have believed possible. Like this savage encounter. He'd never done anything like this in his life – or desired to. Yet here he was, with his cock buried deep in the body of a man dangling from chains._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________And this past year? Since when did Napoleon Solo wait around for someone to tell him he could make love? The very idea was preposterous. Normally, he approached romance the same way he did a mission, suave, cool, and arrogantly confident in his ability to get precisely what he wanted. Yet, for over a year Napoleon, usually the most aggressive and commanding of lovers, had allowed his partner to call the shots. And, frustrating as the in between periods were, he'd enjoyed it..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Because Illya meant more to him than any other lover._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________The hows and whys of it were beyond Napoleon's ability to understand, all he knew was how he felt...and those feelings were terribly frightening to a man who'd written the book on noninvolvement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________In their own way, the emotional factors were harder to accept in stride than the fact that Illya was another man, Napoleon recognized as he clung to the trembling golden body which was supporting most of their combined weight at the moment. The aftershocks of delight danced through him like the tremors following a California quake, unpredictable and nearly as devastating as the initial burst. Every time Solo was sure it was finished, another ripple would quiver along his nerve path and send his senses reeling out again. At long last, sanity returned. Slowly, Napoleon opened his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Though soft now, he was still buried deep in Illya's flesh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon's nose was squashed against the nearly hairless chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya's head was bent almost as if he'd passed out, his face buried in the soft brown hair at the top of Solo's head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"You okay up there?" Napoleon inquired, carefully extracting his limp penis._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Illya moaned, hissing as Solo placed him back on his feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Leaning forward for a kiss, Napoleon reached up and finally undid the manacles binding his partner's wrists._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________There was no mistaking his partner's distress as Illya lowered his arms and nearly crumpled to the floor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Napoleon caught his sagging friend, holding Illya up while he rubbed at the wiry arms to help ease the pain of the return of normal circulation. He couldn't help but notice how Illya's wrists, which had remained unmarked during his overnight imprisonment, now bore livid black and blue bruises from the manacles, no doubt the consequence of supporting both their weights after climax._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Guilt-ridden by what his own selfish indulgence had cost his friend, Solo briskly massaged, asking with belated concern, "Any permanent damage?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________"Only to my ego. I will live, Napoleon. Would you be so kind as to look for my clothes?" Illya requested, taking a wobbly step back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Not wanting what was between them to fly so fast, but seeing the logic of the request, Napoleon nodded and turned to the cupboards beneath the counter where his own clothes were laid. The drawers seemed the most obvious place to store clothing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Illya sink to the floor. Illya's arms gripped his knees tight to his chest as he buried his face in their knobby tops._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________" _Illyusha _?" Concerned, Solo returned to him.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Don't call me that!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Not knowing precisely what was wrong, Napoleon laid a hand on a pale shoulder. "Illya?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Don't!" Illya jerked away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Are you..?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Every trace of color abruptly drained from his partner's face, a panicked expression pinching his features._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Bathroom?" Illya snapped, nearly jumping to his feet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"In the hallway," Solo supplied, recalling his earlier exploration. "First door to the right."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________By the time the last syllable was uttered, Solo was speaking to an empty room. Illya disappeared so fast that Napoleon barely saw him move._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Spying a sink in the corner, Solo decided to make use of it himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________After cleaning up, he dressed and recommenced his search for Illya's clothes. By the time Illya returned, Solo had recovered them from a locker in the adjacent storage room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Are you all right?" Napoleon worriedly questioned, bringing Illya's clothes to him while doing his best not to hover._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Fine," Illya coldly replied. His skin was pink all over, as if he'd scrubbed himself raw with institutional powder soap and paper towels._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Without a word, Illya took his clothes from Solo. As he donned them, Illya seemed completely oblivious to the appreciative stare that followed his every move._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"So what happens now?" Solo asked once they were fully dressed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Illya's mood puzzled him. Although Illya seemed calm, Napoleon sensed that his partner was far from content. There was a brittle edge to Illya's control that warned him to take nothing for granted._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"We retrieve the computer's master tapes and inform Mr. Waverly of our success."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Napoleon drew a patient breath. "I was referring to what happens between us now."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Nothing," Illya stiffly replied. "Nothing happens again. Ever."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Now wait just one minute..." Solo grabbed hold of his partner's arm as his friend made to walk away from him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________A quick, stinging shuto chop upwards and Illya was free._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Napoleon rubbed at the painful strike point, highly conscious of the fact that Illya could have broken his arm, had he so desired. The move had been nothing but a warning, a very explicit warning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eyes as blue and as accommodating as a Siberian winter stared ice at him. "The game is over, Napoleon. For good."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Illya, this isn't a game. I..." Solo argued. He should have expected trouble, but since it was Illya who had suggested that ultimate union, he'd somehow convinced himself that his partner had changed his mind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Illya cut him off cold. "If you use that particular four letter word again, Napoleon Solo, I will not be responsible for my behavior."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"For God's sake, I..." Solo caught himself, "...I care about you. We've got to work this out."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"There is nothing to `work out', Napoleon. You have...taken what you wanted. Go on to your next conquest and leave me in peace." Illya's barriers were solid ice, at least three feet thick._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Illya, please..." Throwing caution to the wind, Napoleon grabbed hold of his friend's arm again before Illya could walk away from him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Illya stared down at his offending hand, his chilling gaze slowly rising to Solo's face. "I am not restrained now, Napoleon. You will not find me so easy to subjugate this time."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Subjugate?" Solo echoed, sick inside. He'd known from the moment he'd given in to the impulse to touch Illya against his partner's will that there'd be one hell of a reckoning to deal with. He'd prayed that passion...and love would be enough to carry them through. But he'd been nothing but a sentimental fool, Solo realized. The Ice King eschewed passion. The word love didn't even exist in his scientific vocabulary._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"I told you from the start that I was unwilling to play this game," Illya reminded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Angry now himself, Solo didn't pull his punches. He was sick of this twisted game. "It wasn't rape. If you will recall, you told me to take you."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"That was the only way a game of chains and domination could end." Illya did not meet his gaze. Apparently, the ice was brittle here._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Don't give me that line. Even chained, you could have stopped me any time you wanted. You're better with your bare feet than most men are with a gun. You wanted it as much as I did." Solo accused. "Only you're so screwed up that chains and bondage are the only way you'd allow yourself to enjoy my touch, only when you had the pretense of saying that it wasn't your fault. What are you going to do now, _Illyusha _a – pretend that I forced myself upon you, deflowered you like some kind of captive damsel?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________Napoleon never saw the punch coming. The left hook caught him totally off guard, dropping him like a ton of bricks. Stunned, he blinked up from the floor at Illya towering over him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________________Gingerly, Solo's tongue certified that he still had all his teeth. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, _tovarisch _?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________White with fury, Illya glowered down at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Believe what you will," Illya said at last, seeming almost weary as he crossed to the nearest computer and began extracting the master tapes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"We need to talk this through, Illya," Solo reasoned, climbing to his feet and coming up behind his friend. But he didn't get too close. Respect for the judo master's lethal abilities granted Illya the room he so desperately seemed to need._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"There is nothing to discuss," Illya stonewalled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Damn it! Would you please just listen to me!" Solo exploded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Listen to what? That you – love me?" The suggestion was almost a snarl._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"I..." Before Solo could utter the 'do', his angry partner continued._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"There is no cottage with a white picket fence in our future, Napoleon, no 2.3 children, no happy-ever-after. If we pursue this, there will only be disgrace and unemployment."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Startled by the emotional response, Napoleon tried to counter, "You've never feared anything in your entire life, Illya. Don't let them..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"It is not 'them' I fear. Don't you understand?" At Solo's blank look and negative headshake, Illya continued, "You are asking me to sacrifice every bit of security I've gained to...satisfy your passing fancy."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"You're not a passing fancy," Solo protested. "I..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"You will grow bored with me within a week, Napoleon, two at best. For the sake of those two weeks, you ask me to risk dishonorable discharge from U.N.C.L.E., deportation, castration, and brutal imprisonment..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"What are you talking about?" Solo sobered, his anger dying under his partner's barely leashed distress._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Homosexuality is not tolerated in my homeland. The penalties are quite severe. I left once to avoid..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"You mean that you've...been involved with other men?" Solo couldn't have been more stunned if Illya had taken his gun out and shot him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Illya head slowly shook, "No, never. You were the first and only man I've ever...touched that way."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Then what are we talking about?" Napoleon questioned, totally lost._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"I never actually was with another, but...I knew where my true desires lay. Sooner or later I would have betrayed myself. When that U.N.C.L.E. agent approached me all those years ago...you could say that it was almost an answer to a prayer, if you believe in such things." Illya explained._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"We're not in Soviet Russia now, Illya, and you need never go back if you don't want to. U.N.C.L.E. service ensures that much. You've already got dual citizenship. Even if Waverly discharged us both out of hand for this, he's not vindictive. He wouldn't take that from you," Napoleon reasoned, never having suspected that this could be the source of their problem._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Perhaps," Illya uneasily conceded. "But, those consequences aside, I am still unwilling to be a passing infatuation in your romantic parade, Napoleon."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Can't you believe that I...care about you?" Solo asked when his friend continued to evade his gaze. Illya's entire concentration seemed focused upon the manual task of removing the computer tapes, a mindless operation that Illya could perform in his sleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"You are interested only in that which is out of your reach," Illya said quietly. "You've had me now. It's time to move on."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Beginning to suspect that his partner had given himself to him only to terminate their sexual relationship, Solo guardedly questioned, "And if I don't want to move on?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Illya's eyes squeezed shut, "You haven't any choice. Not if you want to keep this partnership."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Are you threatening me?" Solo challenged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"No. Promising. I will not be a casualty of your 'hit and run' approach to romance. Either the games die here and now – our partnership does. The choice is yours, Napoleon."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Almost tempted to test Illya's resolve, he took a long look at his partner. That grim determination would walk Illya through land mines. It would carry him out of their partnership without a second's pause or backwards glance if Illya decided that such a permanent break were necessary for his survival._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________And, somehow, Napoleon was beginning to sense that his partner was fighting for just that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________All that stuff about castration and imprisonment, even though Illya was free of that threat now, it couldn't have been easy for him to have lived with all those years. Add to that a natural, emotional reticence and the fact that the reserved Russian was involved with a man who had more paramours to his credit than most guys did simple dates...the situation must be nearly impossible for Illya to bear._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________How could he ask Illya to risk so much, when Illya had no true idea of what he meant to him?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Finding a patience he never expected existed, Solo softly conceded, "Have it your way – for now. But know this; I plan on proving myself to you. If I have to move heaven and earth to do it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Illya seemed taken aback by his declaration...and beneath it, more than slightly pleased. "Then I wish you luck, my friend."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Did Illya want to be won, want to be wooed? Solo wondered at the other man's fleeting surprise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________The bittersweet smile Illya gave him seemed to tell him that his partner believed failure a foregone conclusion._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Planning his strategy, Napoleon nodded, "Thank you. Shall I take these tapes out to the jeep?" he asked, sensing that his partner needed some thinking time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"Perhaps we should look for a box?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________"I'll get right on it," Solo promised, seeing from the uneasy glance Illya threw his way that his friend understood that he was talking about more than just the job at hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________Optimistic, despite this afternoon's set back, Solo left his partner to his thinking, wondering when he'd get the chance to make his next move._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________________The End_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
